Haven't I Seen You Somewhere Before?
by KatDancer2
Summary: Solona Amell was the Hero of Ferelden, Warden-Commander of the Grey in Ferelden, Arlesa of Amaranthine... and it meant nothing more than trying to rebuild her life from scratch... again. (Follows Solona Amell through Awakening.)
1. Something to chew on

**Should go without saying, but here goes - I don't own any of these characters or the setting - Bioware does. **

**This series of adventures takes place just after Solona's become the Warden-Commander of Ferelden - six months after the events of Orgins.  
**

* * *

Anders padded into the kitchen at Vigil's Keep late at night, both hungry and troubled. One of the side effects he noticed about the Joining was that he was always starving now. He had hoped for a quiet late night snack trying to figure out what to do, but became aware that his fellow recruit, Oghren, was already plowing through what looked like a second supper.

Grabbing his own meal makings, Anders brought them to the little table Oghren was sitting at. "Mind if I join you?"

"What, one Joining wasn't enough for ya!" Oghren snorted, chortling into his beer. "Eh, cop a squat. Whatcha got there, anyhow?"

Man and dwarf began to eat, sharing what each had brought to the table. After a few minutes, Oghren looked up at Anders. "Yer quieter than normal. What's chewing on yer arse?"

Anders wasn't quite sure how to put this. It had been years since he'd seen the Warden-Commander - in fact, when she'd come charging into the Keep slaying darkspawn he hadn't recognized her at first. She was grim, armored and determined, and by Andraste, a terror with her magic. And the woman who'd coldly told that templar Rylock she could perform an anatomical impossibility upon herself - that was _not _the Solona Amell he'd known years ago at Kinloch Hold.

"So… how long have you known 'Lona?" he asked, watching Oghren over the brim of his mug of ale.

"'Lona?" Oghren stiffened a little at that. There was only one other person on Thedas that he'd known to be so familiar with the Warden. He sized up Anders thoughtfully, and set his mug down. "So wait, you knew the Warden Commander before she was even the Warden?" Oghren asked, looking at Anders more closely across the crude little wooden table they were sharing off the kitchen.

"Yes, dwarf… I did. And she's changed, and not for the better." His amber eyes were uncharacteristically worried. "She used to be so happy and full of life…"

Oghren shifted uncomfortably, and for a wonder, did not belch, fart, spit, scratch or otherwise act obnoxiously. "Yeah, she was," he said reluctantly.

"So when _you_ first met her, she wasn't like this either." Anders shook his head. "Maker, what happened to her?"

Oghren was so quiet Anders thought he'd drifted off in a drunken stupor. And then he sighed. "Sparkle-fingers, I'm not tellin' you this for _you_, I'm tellin' you this for _her_. She's been through enough and doesn't need people pokin' at her."

Anders nodded. "What is it?"

Oghren took another hard pull at his wineskin. "Yeah, well, if you knew her back in her Circle days, you already know all about the shit deal she got handed in life, right from the start. And then she gets exiled from the Circle and the only life she really knew. She lost it all, trusting and trying to help out a _friend_."

_And also the rest of us; the only family she felt she had, too_, Anders added mentally. He'd never forgive Jowan; his blood magic had had terrible costs, and as far as he'd seen, those who had suffered were the ones who loved Jowan… not the blood mage himself.

"And then before she's ripped to shreds by the tower Templars, she's conscripted by a Grey Warden to save her life - sound familiar, pretty boy? Then Ostagar happens, she loses the comrades she'd just made, and gets thrown together with the only other surviving Grey Warden. Nice guy, good looking, bit indecisive, needs her prodding and pushing to get anything done. They gather with them a motley bunch that somehow, against all odds, amasses an enormous army, reunites the land, and kills the archdemon."

"I think I've heard this tale," Anders said dryly. "It DID happen only six months ago."

"What they DON'T tell you in the taverns, or anywhere else for that matter, is how they go back to save the Circle, and she finds out a templar hottie had a crush on her the same time she was crushing on him, but now he hates the sight of her and tells her she's dirt. And there's no love like unrequited love… she's blaming herself for not getting there sooner to save him from torture, and heartbroken over coulda beens. Cue her fellow warden providing her comfort and consolation, swearing he'll be there for her forever, that he understands not having anything or anyone to depend on…. and soon enough, the Hero of Ferelden and that bastard were making kissy face covered in darkspawn blood, no matter who was around - barring the assassin elf, for some reason. Before you could cleave a skull, they're sharing a bedroll when they're not killing things deader than dead. _Ancestors_, trying to get any sleep at night once they discovered each other was a trick. The only one resting well was the apostate - she had her own little camp a ways off. Maybe the elf. I think he enjoyed the nightly entertainment."

"What?!" Anders eyes widened in shock, then narrowed angrily.

Oghren nodded. "Hey_, I'd_ have laid her if the fact she could blast me into embers didn't scare me so bad… or if it weren't so apparent to everyone that it wasn't just lust, it was looooooooooooooove with them two. And I hate to say it but I even wish the elf assassin had sheathed his dagger with her…." He grunted. "Maybe if any of the rest of us _had _she'd have been able to get over him.

"That old mage, Wynne… warned her and warned her that princey poo was so innocent, so inexperienced… said Amell'd break his heart. Boy, did she ever call THAT one wrong."

"So he trifled with her - _used_ her?" Anders felt his blood boiling.

"Eh, wish it could be that simple, then I could hate the sodding blighter and split his skull for him," Oghren grunted. "Truth is, he loved her too…. but he's a man of honor, and since his precious nobles need an heir, he's gotten himself married off."

Anders closed his eyes a moment. _Maker, she had truly _**loved**_ him? How could she have been so _**stupid**_! The first thing we learn in the Circle - take your pleasure when and where you can, but never **ever** fall in love... it gives Templars far too much power over a mage - the ability to destroy the only thing that really matters to you._

"It ended," Oghren said, unnecessarily. "Badly. The nobles woulda revolted with the idea of a mage queen. And whatever _she_ mighta wanted, he made it clear - in front of the whole bleeding lot of us, so there was no mistake and no saving face - that it was _over_. Wouldn't be _fair_ to her, he said, or to whoever the royal brood mare was gonna be." Oghren took a deep drink. "And despite all that, she goes off and kills the sodding archdemon anyroad, is comatose for about a month from the beating she took, and wakes up in time for her sodding celebration and to be sent off with the equivalent of "we'll always be besties, thanks for everything, don't you think you should be off rebuilding the order now?"" Oghren shook his head. "You'd think he coulda given her one for the road, at least."

Anders was fuming. "So he hands her Howe's arling, and tells her to get lost."

"Pretty much, yeah." Oghren shook his head. "It's no wonder she's not all sunshine and puppy dogs anymore."


	2. Sunset

*****The Next Evening *****

Solona Amell stood at the battlements, looking into the west and watching the sun set. She did this every night, watching the last embers of the day dying.

_I should have died that night_, she thought disconsolately. _Maker, I should have never let him go to Morrigan, I should have simply taken that blow and perished and been done with it all._ But that was all her own fault, and she knew it. _You'd think that I had never learned that breaking the rules could have __**consequences**__._

She could hardly swallow past the lump in her throat, and as the sun slipped below the horizon, painting the clouds in gold and pink and purple, tears slipped over her cheeks. Every night she grieved, and she didn't know when or if it would end… after all, her love still lived, and yet there was no hope of them being together again - not _ever_.

She wiped the tears from her cheeks, thankful for the solitude up here. As the Arlessa of Amaranthine and Warden-Commander of the Grey, she couldn't afford let her people see her as weak. It would cause them to doubt her fitness to lead - and that doubt might be enough to cause them to hesitate and get themselves killed - or to make Howe's supporters think she was easily dealt with. She had to be the Hero of Ferelden - even when she desperately wished someone could come rescue _her_ for a change.

It had been sheer torture seeing Alistair again - even briefly - right after she cleared the darkspawn from Vigil's Keep. She'd bent her knee, made all the right noises and (she hoped) had hidden her inner turmoil behind a stony facade. She'd caught a brief glimpse of Alistair's eyes, and the look in them was so sad and pained that she'd focused on his breastplate and the royal seal after that. She wasn't sure how she felt about him also being unhappy - to her mind, he was the one causing them both to suffer. And while she'd been trying to be professional and distant, that templar bitch had tried to take Anders away to death or worse.

Solona's fist tightened until she felt her nails biting into her palms, her despair deepening into a smoldering rage. Alistair was probably the only person present aside from herself who knew how close to death Rylock had been when she announced that she would see Anders hanged for murder. It had been a shock - a pleasant one - to come upon Anders in the Keep after all that time, and she had been relieved to have her oldest friend and confidant fighting at her side and getting her people to safety. When Rylock named him murderer and threatened to drag him back to the circle and have him killed, Solona had been a thought away from roasting her in her armor like a suckling pig. Solona was DONE with losing pieces of her life.

When the templar tried to override the conscription, Solona had given Alistair a look that both asked him to step in as ruler and _promised_ that Anders was going nowhere without a fight. With a slight nod, he'd given her what she wanted and told his pet mage-hunter to stand down.

Solona supposed he probably felt it really was the least he could do, a sort of peace offering between them. She'd managed a curt nod and thank you, and then asked if there were anything else she could do… he'd recognized the question for what it was: a pulling away, and a subtle suggestion he should get the hell out of her sight. The templar stormed off, leaving Solona with the distinct feeling this wasn't over. In the sudden relative privacy, Alistair had stepped forward, saying softly, "Solona…."

"Don't." She'd heard her voice quiver once, hated herself for the weakness. "Unless something has changed, there's nothing more to say, _is_ there?"

"I'd hoped…" he faltered.

"So had I," she said pointedly. "By your leave… there is much to do." Without waiting for an answer, she'd turned, signaling Mhairi, Oghren and Anders to come with her.

She knew it was the only thing she could do to preserve his dignity and hers - but Maker, it had hurt.

She felt the tingle of her senses alerting her to darkspawn taint at the same time the soft scrape of leather against stone reached her ears, and a familiar, warm voice said softly, "Copper for your thoughts?"

Solona shrugged, and turned to face her fellow mage. "I'm afraid I'd get the better of that bargain, Anders. My thoughts are hardly worth even _that_ little."


	3. You Look So Familiar

Anders stepped forward, and without a word, simply enfolded Solona in his arms, laying his cheek against the top of her sleek auburn head. She'd stiffened at first, but he appeared not to notice, and just kept holding her gently.

Maker, the look in her eyes when she'd turned around… so bleak. So _alone_.

"Do you remember," he murmured quietly into her hair, "how after they'd bring me back to the tower, you used to sneak down and see me when they had me confined? Even if it was only for a moment - even if it was only time enough to whisper to me that I wasn't alone, before ghosting off so the Templars wouldn't find you?"

She nodded, and her voice sounded thick, almost strangled. "I remember…"

He kissed the top of her head, as if she were a mere child, and whispered, "Solona… you're not alone."

Her slight frame trembled, and he felt her sag against him slightly. Her arms came around his waist and she hugged him fiercely. They stood there, silhouetted against a magnificent sunset, never saying a word and yet telling each other the most important things they could never say.

"Oh," she said, in a rueful voice, so quiet he had to strain to hear her, "but I most assuredly am." She looked up at him, and though her blue eyes were sad, there was a flicker of humor in them now. "You'd think I'd be better at this by now… accepting that. That at any time - and obviously, it will be at the worst time ever - the rug'll get pulled out from under me again and it's universe several billion, Solona one. Again."

"Ahhhh, but what a one," he murmured. "The only Grey Warden to destroy an Archdemon _and_ live to enjoy the adoration of Thedas."

She forced a painful little chuckle. "How utterly ungrateful of me to forget that."

He released her, and stepped back, holding her hands, to look at her searchingly. She was so very thin - thinner than she'd been in the tower, running up and down the stairs every day. He didn't like it - and he missed the mischievous sparkle that had lived in her eyes. "'Lona, 'Lona. What are we going to do with you, sweetheart?"

A snort, more like the girl she'd been. "I can only imagine what _you_ have in mind."

He laughed with her, and held her close again, just letting her lean against him. He stroked her back as if she were a kitten. "You've always been strong for everyone else," he whispered into her hair. "It's ok to let go. It's ok to let someone else be strong for you, if only for a little while."

He wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying. "Ah, Anders… with a line like that, there was a time you'd have had a girl's small clothes off and have shown her the difference between a rod and a _staff_." She stepped back and looked up into his eyes, and smiled tentatively. "I doubt any of the portraits of the Hero of Ferelden depict her with blotchy cheeks, bloodshot eyes, and a running nose."

"Allergy portraiture is sooooo last year in Orlais," he quipped.

She stepped back, but her shoulders didn't seem as slumped, her face didn't seem as closed. "Thanks," she said quietly.

He quirked a crooked grin at her. "I certainly hope you're not expecting me to be impressed with you now that you've got all these titles strung out behind your name. Wheee, aren't WE important now!"

"Impressive? Hardly. I only escaped Kinloch Hold the once," she retorted. "Of course, it worked the first time, now, didn't it?"

He laughed, clapping a hand over his heart, "Oh, and she twists the knife, too!"

They sat on the wall, looking over the fields and off to the horizon in companionable silence. Once the sun had fully gone down and the last glimmers of light faded, Solona stood, dusting herself off.

"Let's go grab some grub," she said gruffly, though he noticed that she waited for him to get up and walk with her downstairs.


	4. Circle Back to the Beginning

**Years ago: Kinloch Hold**

Solona Amell slipped quietly into the caverns that served as stockroom on the second level of Kinloch Hold, her heart racing.

She had been at the Ferelden Circle of Magi since age six, taken from her family the moment she'd shown any signs of having magical ability. After a decade, in many ways, this really was the only family, the only home she could remember.

She wondered if all families were as strange as this one. There were extraordinarily warm instructors, and extraordinarily strict ones. There were kind fellow apprentices and bullies. And always, there were the templars.

Most of them were simply… present, distant and professional. Some of them took sadistic pleasure in intimidating their charges. A few… well, you kept out of their way. There were mages who'd been beaten, even raped… and yet nothing seemed to happen to their abusers. There was a rumor that there were peepholes into the girl's bathing facilities, and Solona had confirmed that one, at least as true. She never bathed without jamming a washcloth into the hole now.

She'd been lucky so far in that she had not been caught alone by some of the more sadistic templars, but she knew it was really only a matter of time. She was very pretty, and now she'd begun to develop hips and a bosom, like the older girls. Her wide blue eyes, coppery red hair, tiny button nose and curvy body had been drawing some attention from her peers and templars alike, and that was _precisely_ the reason she was stealing into the caves.

She snuck down into a secluded corner, waiting nervously. She hoped… well, she hoped she wasn't making a fool of herself… or that…

A hand covered her mouth, muffling her yelp as she was pulled back into a rather dark recess, and a familiar voice tickled her ear. "Solona, easy, it's me."

She relaxed as the hand fell away, turned to face her fellow mage, smiling. "Anders," she breathed, stroking the blond mage's cheek. She kissed him quickly, full on the lips.

He was handsome and an incorrigible flirt, seventeen and with a haze of peach fuzz he was trying to call a beard. His warm brown eyes and soft golden hair was the topic of many giggly whispered conversations in the girls' dorm. If the rumors were true (and she certainly hoped they were) he was a rather… stimulating partner in the odd broom closet, stairwell, or behind the bookshelves in the library. Solona hoped the stories were true.

"Not here," he whispered conspiratorially, breaking the kiss gently. "Are you afraid of heights?"

"Funny thing to be asking in a cavern UNDER a tower," she giggled.

"Follow me," he said, taking her by the hand.

He led her to a very dusty, cobwebby little _cul de sac_ of a niche, and she realized why he'd asked. There was a miniscule ledge over a drop she couldn't see to the bottom of, and he edged out over it, his eyes warm and encouraging. She followed carefully, hugging the rock wall almost desperately. Suddenly there was more solid rock under her soft leather boots, and they were inside a cool, dark and completely hidden niche.

He knelt, his robe pooling around his knees, looking up at her with liquid honey eyes, the tiniest edge of an uncertain smile hovering at the corners of his mouth, his large hand with its slender fingers still curved around her smaller one. Solona knelt beside him.

"Maker, you're beautiful," he breathed, running his fingers through her sleek hair and pushing it back out of her eyes. It was something he'd learned to say to the girls in the tower, and he suddenly realized that this time, it wasn't something he said just to get under her robes. There was something about her delicate features and deep blue eyes that seemed a little exotic.

"You're not so bad yourself," she joked nervously. She was trembling as she traced his cheek, his lips…

_She's trembling. Afraid? _Anders was no shy beginner at this – there had been no end of bored girls, older and younger, who'd taken him to their beds. He thought about it a moment and couldn't ever remember Solona walking off alone with anyone, other than that oaf Jowan, and _that_ whole pairing screamed platonic. _Is it just the rush from the danger of being caught she's reacting to… or is she really scared?_

"Solona," he said, taking both her hands gently. He looked deep into her eyes. "You're trembling. Are you sure about this?" He groaned inwardly. _Please don't let her say no _now_..._

She leaned forward and cut off his question with a kiss. "I want to," she said quietly.

He caressed her cheek and said softly, "You have no idea what a relief that is." He nibbled kisses down the side of her neck desperately, reveling in her gasp and the way she clung tighter to him as he cupped and squeezed her breast.

She nuzzled him in turn, tentative kisses along his jawline. Her breath tickled his ear, and then the bottom dropped out of his stomach when she gently took his earlobe in her teeth and tugged and nibbled it. "It's okay, Anders…" She slid down to her side, studying him, her head propped on one hand.

He lay beside her, his hand skimming her hip. "Solona…" His hand edged under the hem of her robe, and slid up her thigh. That he could feel she wasn't wearing any smallclothes made his breath hitch, and he explored further. He felt her fingers fumbling with the catches of his robe at his throat.

She smiled, her eyes uncertain and yet excited all at once. "Anders. Today is my nameday…"

He smiled, planting a kiss on her forehead. "Well, happy…" He stopped suddenly, then looked at her again, understanding. "Your sixteenth?"

She nodded.

He nodded too, considering, and kissed her lightly and gently. _Of course, it made sense now._ He asked carefully, "And you asked _me_ because…"

"Because," she said softly, "I want good memories, with someone I think is cute, someone I like to be around… someone who sees me and not just a mage. I want something I do to be _my_ choice…"

He understood all she _wasn't _saying…. Most of their lives were dictated by the Circle, by the Chantry… by the templars. He understood it better than most – he'd come to the Circle at age 13, and had made three rather daring escapes thus far. There were too many templars who took what they wanted from young mages who could not defend themselves, both because their tales would never be acted upon and because they'd have been drained of mana so that they could not resist... physical attack. And here was a very pretty girl, her startling blue eyes wide and fixed on him with a mixture of nervousness, attraction, innocence and lust. He caressed the side of her face, and briefly, she shut her eyes, nuzzling into his hand, then opened them again, smiling at him breathlessly.

Maker, those eyes, and the way she looked at him… they took his breath away. He'd wanted others before, and Maker knew he'd more than a few notches on his staff, but a wave of both tenderness and desire washed over him as she looked into his eyes.

"Well, then, Solona Amell," he whispered, and leaned forward to kiss her. "Let's see about making some _good _memories…."

* * *

She dozed against his shoulder, and Anders thought as he lazily stroked her back and side that she even _slept_ prettily.

_It's not fair, _he thought bitterly, _that we can only steal what happiness we find. _

He'd been extraordinarily gentle with her, taking his time, letting her adjust and explore. Normally, couplings at the Circle were frantic things, each mage simply trying to take their pleasure quickly and avoid being caught…. But given that it was her first time….

She stretched and kissed his jaw, snuggling into him, and her eyes opened. She smiled and hugged him tightly.

He kissed her forehead. "Sleep well?"

"Wonderfully," she said. "I… um…." She looked at him, her eyes gone soft and vulnerable, "I, um…. Thank you." She blushed ferociously. "I hope… you enjoyed…?"

Now it was his turn to blush. "Immensely. And you…?"

She nodded and smiled. "Why are we having such a hard time _talking_ about this? I mean… we just…."

"I know." He stroked her. "Silly, isn—"

"Amell!"

She jumped, and cursing quietly, pulled her clothes together. "Oh Maker," she breathed, "the templars!"

She yanked herself together desperately, and had just twisted her hair into some semblance of order when she realized Anders was no longer in the niche with her.

_BLAM!_

Solona swore softly and charged around the corner as best she could, just in time to see Cullen and another templar wrenching Anders up from the ground. There was a bookcase toppled, and Anders hung, dazed, between them.

"Trying to escape again?" Betron sneered, getting face to face with Anders. "We'll see how far you can run with broken knees…"

"I'm here," she said loudly, hoping her hair wasn't too mussed, and stepping out into the light.

The three men looked up – Anders in shock, Betron with a vicious leer, and Cullen….

The look on Cullen's face was amazing to see. First, confusion, then shock, then he went a deep shade of red (whether from embarrassment or rage, she could not tell. Both, perhaps? But why?) and then grim and professionally blank. "Apprentice Amell," he said tightly.

She looked away, her cheeks flaming. "I can assure you," she said, her voice sounding far more confident than her shaking hands showed, "that Anders was NOT, in fact escaping."

"And you know this because….." Betron said with a wolfish grin.

"Solona," Anders started warningly….

Solona crossed her arms, and raised an eyebrow mockingly. "For the very obvious reason that we were… otherwise engaged."

Cullen went white, as did Anders.

"You were…. otherwise engaged." Betron glanced at Anders, then back at Solona. The leer became even uglier, something she hadn't thought possible.

"It is as I said," she said, feeling her spine grow icy cold. "And how is one to _escape_, Ser Knight, from a tunnel system whose _only_ egress is in the library?"

Solona hardly saw the blow coming. There was a flash of blue light and searing pain, and she ended up on her knees, feeling sick, drained and weak. When she looked up, Anders looked alarmed. Cullen let him go… fairly gently, actually, letting Anders slump to the floor rather than shoving him there.

Betron grabbed her roughly by the arm, wrenching her to her feet. "Perhaps you need more to engage you," he growled, letting his lips linger close to her ear as he twisted her arm. She went white, uttering a muffled squeak of pain, drained of all her mana and unable to defend herself. Betron was one of those who… well, the story went that he abused the mages in his charge. There wasn't a one, male or female, who came back from a little talk with him... unchanged. She could well believe it now, and her blood ran cold.

"Betron!" Cullen said sharply, and the older templar straightened, glaring at him. "Are you _crazy_? She's the First Enchanter's apprentice. Beat her, and _that_ won't get swept under the rug."

_Beat_? Solona thought, squirming in Betron's iron grip. _Was Cullen really that naïve? Is THAT what he thinks this pig has in mind?_

Betron growled in frustration and shoved her ahead of himself roughly. "Well, then, _princess_, let's get you and your _prince_ to the First Enchanter's office!"

* * *

Solona didn't _quite_ bolt out of Irving's office – but it wasn't her usual graceful pace, either. Her ears were a blistering red, and she hardly slowed as she passed Anders in the hall.

"Solona!" he called, watching her nearly break into a run. The young templar, Cullen, gave Anders a withering look, and headed after the girl at a far more sedate pace. Anders took a step after them…

"Anders, a word, if you will…." Irving was at his doorway, and the look he gave Anders made his heart drop to his feet. Irving didn't look angry… he simply looked _disappointed_.

* * *

"Senior Enchanter," Solona said softly, standing at the doorway.

Solona, please come in," Wynne said gently, indicating that the girl should shut the door behind her. The matter she had to discuss with the apprentice was of a delicate and personal nature, and there was no getting around the fact that the rest of the mages and apprentices in the tower were terrible gossips.

The apprentice came into the room looking wary, sullen and defiant all at once – an interesting combination. Wynne had never seen the second two in her personality before – and the first, only when templars were near. Given what Irving had mentioned to her, she wasn't surprised that the Amell girl looked like she expected to be drawn and quartered.

"Won't you sit down," Wynne continued gently, indicating two seats near a small table. There was tea steaming in two cups, and some cookies. Solona looked from the tea to Wynne, and her eyes turned even more wary. She slid into a seat, choking out a thank you, and proceeded to pick at the rough skin on the edge of her thumb. Wynne noticed that the skin was split and bleeding from the girl's nervous habit.

"I thought the two of us could have a nice little chat," she said.

Solona raised her eyes then, and Wynne saw a flash of – annoyance? Hm. Perhaps grandmotherly was not the tack to take with her.

The words came out of the girl in a rush. "Senior Enchanter, _yes_, I was alone with a boy. And _yes_, we were intimate, knowing that we were breaking the rules. And when the templars came to find me, he tried to protect me and draw them off…" Solona's face seemed to crumple a little, and she looked up, her eyes hopeless and yet begging for understanding.

"It was Anders," she nearly whispered, and many things became clear to Wynne instantly. "They were going to hurt him, punish him… Betron said he was escaping…."

"From a closed tunnel system?" Wynne broke in, frowning.

Solona nodded. "I couldn't let him take the blame, ma'am. They'd have locked him up again." And the tears were spilling down her face, she realized in horror. "Betron said he'd break both his knees."

Wynne's lips compressed to a hard white line. Betron again. She picked her words carefully. "So you admitted that you two were…"

"I wasn't going to lie to save my own skin," Solona said stubbornly.

"You needn't have said anything, I understand," Wynne said thoughtfully, watching the young mage.

"A lie of omission. One that would have harmed another."

Wynne nodded, taking a steadying sip of tea. Well, Irving was certainly right – his apprentice _was_ an interesting girl. There were many who'd have hidden and tried to avoid what she'd faced head on. "Such loyalty is admirable… but Solona, Anders… as much as I am fond of that young man, he is cutting quite the swathe through our apprentice's ranks…" She watched Solona's face, did not not to see shock or hurt there – only stubbornness.

"I am aware," Solona said evenly. "And being aware, _I_ asked _him_." The girl's cheeks and ears were flaming.

_That_ was a surprise. Wynne sighed. "Need I remind you of the possible consequences of your actions, young lady?"

Solona's face became immediately closed, and she scowled down at her thumb again, picking at it. Wynne could see that it was starting to bleed.

"Solona…"

"Maker's breath, I'm not an infant," she said tightly, still not meeting Wynne's eyes. "I knew the risks, weighed them, decided to go ahead." She looked up and there was defiance in her eyes. "I wanted a _choice_, Senior Enchanter. I didn't want to be caught alone somewhere, some time, and have _that_ taken from me too." The girl stood, her voice shaking. "The Chantry doesn't see or hear anything it doesn't want to, and templar transgressions are swept under the rug. You know that. Everyone knows that. So _yes_, I chose to break the rules, quite deliberately, and to be honest – it harms no one but myself, and I would do it again, and I would accept the consequences again." Her eyes dropped, and Wynne could see she was trembling now.

Wynne stood up, and took Amell's bleeding hand in both of hers. A wave of healing energy washed over the girl, knitting together the flesh once more.

"If you have a child, and it is hardly unheard of, they will take it from you. Your child will be sent to a chantry orphanage. If it is a mage like you and the father, then it will be sent to another Circle and you will not see it again. And if it is _not_ a mage, then by Andraste's grace it may be adopted – and you _still_ will not see it again." Wynne looked tired, and sad. "That's not to mention that your reputation would be in shreds."

Solona was quiet now, considering, clearly expecting the lecture to continue. When it didn't, she asked, "What now?"

"Now you go to your lesson with the First Enchanter," Wynne said promptly. "I'm sure my apprentice's ears are ringing as he slinks back this way."

* * *

Anders stepped out of the First Enchanter's office, his ears burning a little. Irving was very unhappy that Anders and Amell had been caught after an assignation, to say the least, but other than some stern admonishments about the consequences of physical intimacy, which were embarrassing, things seemed to go smoothly.

"You know you owe your ability to continue roaming the tower to Solona's defending you," Irving said quietly.

"I know." Anders shook his head. "All I could think was that they would hurt _her_ instead. I _tried_ to stop her."

Irving smiled wryly. "Solona is loyal, and will not hesitate to do what she thinks is right." His smile faded. "I worry that that will be either her greatest strength, or her greatest weakness." He gave Anders a long, measuring look. "I would ask one thing of you, my boy…"

"Yes, First Enchanter?"

Irving paused a long time. "Consider very carefully how you treat her," he said finally. "I would _not_ like to see her hurt."

* * *

A few weeks later, Anders woke with a start and looked up to see Solona silhouetted in the dim lighting cast by the barely illuminated glowstones, standing at his bedside. He couldn't really see her face, but there was something very vulnerable in the awkward way she was standing.

Without a word, he shuffled back as far as he could into the bunk, and lifted the covers. Solona slid in without a word, and lay quietly beside him. There seemed nothing more to it than a need for companionship, and he wrapped his arms around her protectively.

He felt her begin to tremble then, and he kissed the top of her head, rubbing her back in slow circles, trying to help her relax. It was when he felt the dampness at his collar that he realized she was crying.

"Don't, oh don't, please don't," he whispered in her ear, stroking her gently. He felt helpless at her sudden storm of emotions, and felt her wince as his hand skimmed her ribs. Another touch, skimming her thigh, made her hiss with pain. He started to reach for a glow when he felt her hand grip his wrist tightly.

"Don't," she whispered tightly. "Don't look at me. Just hold me. Please, just hold me..."

She'd slipped away sometime before Anders woke, so he didn't get a good look at her until later in the morning over breakfast. Her hair was hanging over her face, and her eyes stayed on her plate as she ate without much enthusiasm. He noticed her lower lip was slightly swollen. He reached over and gently touched her chin, tipping her head up slightly so he could see her.

She closed her eyes, and Anders winced. There were circles under her eyes, and he realized her upper lip was split. Maker be damned about unsanctioned magic use, he thought, sending the blue flames of healing over her briefly.

Solona never spoke a word about what had happened, but Anders noticed three things: Betron was gone from the tower without a trace; Cullen seemed to always be somewhere in the background of wherever 'Lona was in the tower, and it was _months_ before Solona took Anders into a dark corner for another tryst.

* * *

Thanks to Artwo.D2 for the comment - I'm very new to this, so the encouragement was much appreciated.


	5. Saying Goodbye

_No, oh no, ohnoohnoohnoohno…._

Solona, Jowan and Lily had just stepped out of the repository. While the lay sister (and wasn't THAT an appropriate title, Solona thought) and Jowan were absolutely giddy about having destroyed his phylactery and whispering about how they were going to run away to be farmers and have fat children, Solona hung back, her stomach twisting in knots.

She'd helped a mage destroy his phylactery.

She was helping a mage to go _apostate_.

She was _betraying the Circle_.

_No, _she told herself fiercely, _I am saving my brother… I am saving Jowan from being made Tranquil against his will… I am saving him from the horror of an existence of… __**existing**__, not __**feeling**__!_

The idea still made her nauseous, and she wished the two love birds would just shut up.

"I can't believe it! Thank you… we could never have done this withou-"

"So what you said was true, Irving."

Solona's knees went weak as she saw Knight-Commander Greagoir, FIrst Enchanter Irving, and some Templars round the corner. And oh dear Andraste… Cullen too. Cullen, who got so tongue-tied around her. Cullen, who'd been so glad he hadn't had to end her at her Harrowing. Cullen… who had been her silent protector since Betron had…

_Maker preserve us_, she thought, _I knew this would end badly._

"You could have told me what you knew of their plan, Solona," said Irving, his voice heavy with disappointment and sorrow, "and you chose not to."

Solona hung her head in shame… and yet what Jowan was yelling was true, too. The Circle _didn't_ really protect mages - it was the Chantry's puppet and helped them to punish mages just for being mages. "But Jowan, the First Enchanter does his best to help us," she had protested….

And then it all happened so fast. Greagoir pronouncing a death sentence on Jowan, relegating Lily to Aeonar… Jowan, desperate, stabbing himself and using blood magic to strike down Irving, Greagoir and the templars and run… Lily and Solona left holding the bag…. Lily crying quietly in the corner after she'd renounced her love for Jowan for his blood magic, and Solona using her healing magics to rouse Greagoir and Irving.

"I'm sorry, First Enchanter… I'm so sorry," Solona had murmured over and over, kneeling beside him, wreathing him in blue-white flames.

"We were all surprised by this," he said, taking her hand as she helped him up. He looked away from her and gently, but firmly, took his hand from hers.

"And what are we to do with her?!" Greagoir snarled, "A new-fledged mage who flouts her training to aid a maleficar! She is a danger to us all!"

_True. It was all true._ "I'm sorry, I didn't know…"

"And you think that _excuses_ you?"

"He was my friend," she said quietly, and looked into Irving's eyes as she tried to explain. "He was terrified of being made Tranquil… or killed. And no one… no one sought to help him before this reached this point, did they? We live in fear… even the most obedient of us," she said, hanging her head. "And… it's justified, isn't it? The fear?"

She stood quietly, shaking. There was no defense she could make, and she knew - they'd need to make an example of her. "Do what you must. I know this cannot go unpunished. But still, I stand by helping my brother."

Greagoir pointed at her furiously. "Even now - even _**now**_! Defiance! Betrayal! She must be ended!" He motioned to Cullen, who had gone white, but who took an unsteady step forward, his hand on his sword hilt.

Solona closed her eyes.

_I won't be going to the Maker's side_, she thought, _not after this_. Though her chest felt as if it were being crushed, she tried to summon inner peace, to remember all the good here in the hold… before she'd ruined it.

Jowan, all of eight years old, bloodying the nose of an older apprentice who'd pulled her pigtails and made her cry.

Templar Cuthbert, who'd carried her, an exhausted and sobbing six year old, into the tower and told her everything was going to be all right; she was coming home.

Lina, who'd taught her to braid her hair and giggled and whispered with her about boys.

Niall, who'd given her her very first kiss. It had been his too. Fortunately, they'd both gotten better at it.

Wynne, who'd helped her hone what little skill she had with healing, and who impressed upon her the necessity for dignity and decorum as well as a _thorough_ lecture on the reproductive abilities of humans.

Irving, who'd been the only father she could remember - and how proud he was of her control over the inferno spell.

Anders… who supported her, teased her, tutored her… and whose breathlessly frantic couplings with her whenever he was dragged back to the tower made those lectures about dignity, decorum, and reproduction necessary…

All this passed before her in an instant, and she opened her eyes to focus on Cullen. He stood there before her, his face blank, his eyes agonized.

_Do it_, she thought at him, closing her eyes again. _I know it's nothing personal._

"Wait."

Solona opened her eyes.

And there was the Grey Warden, Duncan, striding towards them - blindingly bright in his silverite armor. Of all the faces surrounding her, his was the only one not filled with horror, sorrow, rage or disgust.

And at the door Duncan had just come through, Anders… pale, looking frantic… Solona shook her head slightly. Anything he could try would end him, too.

"First Enchanter Irving recommended this mage as a Grey Warden recruit. I wish to take her with me to Ostagar, to serve in the King's Army fighting the blight."

What?

"NO! Absolutely not, I WILL NOT ALLOW IT!"

Duncan turned to Irving. "There are worse things than blood mages - you know that. We are facing a blight and a talented mage like her is needed."

Irving turned to Greagoir. "This matter is out of our hands. He is a Grey Warden. If he invokes the right of conscription, neither lord nor king can refuse him." Irving looked at Solona and she saw… relief?

"I… I would leave the tower?" she stammered idiotically.

"You would become a Grey Warden and defend Ferelden with those formidible skills of yours."

"She is a dangerous criminal!"

"It is a very rare - and brave - person who would risk all for a friend," Duncan said imperturbably. "And to take a stand for what they believe to be just, instead of simply, the law."

"And so we reward her for loosing a dangerous apostate," Greagoir snarled. "It is a mockery of the Chantry, and the Circle both!"

"If you believe I can do any good," Solona said softly, "I'll go. I'll be a Grey Warden." _Maybe I can atone for what I've done here. And if I die at Ostagar… well, that solves many problems. _

"Then I will accept this young mage under my wing, and take responsibility for her actions."

"Then _leave_, and quickly." Greagoir looked as if he wanted to kill her with his bare hands.

Solona shot one wild look toward Anders, at the doorway. "May… may I get my things… say goodbye?"

"I will NOT have you infest this tower with any more of your rebellion." Greagoir snarled. "You leave, with the robes on your back, the amulet and ring Irving gave you, and your staff, and you leave _now_."

Solona took on last look at Cullen, who sheathed his sword fully and turned away… and then at Anders… who still looked as if he were considering something desperate.

"Come," Duncan said, his hand warm on her lower back as he escorted her out of the tower.


	6. Sunshine and Puppy Dogs

"Hey, did we order any ponies?" Anders called across the courtyard.

Solona Amell frowned, and walked down the steps from the keep. What was the mage talking about, she wondered.

A large, brindled hound was walking up the road to Vigil's Keep, his nose to the ground, ranging from side to side. He looked a bit on the thin side, and was favoring his right forepaw slightly.

Solona's heart hitched for a moment.

The hound's head snapped to one side of the road, and he made a bee-line for it, snuffling loudly, even as Solona started to run for the castle gates. Then the dog's head came up, and it uttered one sharp, happy bark and started pelting towards her.

"Barkly!" Solona laughed as the mabari leaped up and bowled her over, licking her face and barking insanely. She wrestled with the hound, knowing full well that he let her win, and got up, scratching his ears. "Where in the world did you come from?" she asked, looking into the hound's intelligent brown eyes.

Barkley uttered a sharp, high-pitched bark, a sound she knew meant frustration that his human was too stupid to understand him. He gave her his paw solemnly, then started licking her again.

"_Barkly_?" Anders had come within about twenty feet of the happy pair, and repeated, "You named him _BARKLY_?"

The hound snorted, shoving his head back under Solona's hand.

"We were rushed for time. He appeared right after Ostagar, as Alistair, Morrigan and I were headed for Lothering, and warned us of a darkspawn band ahead of us. We needed a name for him, and, well….. HE likes it!" Solona looked down the road, but saw no other travelers upon it. "Barkly, did someone bring you here?"

The dog sat very still, cocking his head at her.

"Did you come here all by yourself?"

The dog started barking and spinning in circles, then rolled on his back, waving his paws in the air.

"Well aren't YOU a clever boy, yes you are!" That left a few questions, though… the last she'd seen of him, Barkly had been in Denerim at Arl Eamon's estate. "We'd better send a message telling them where you've got off to."

Barkly got up, shook himself, and trotted over to Anders, his tongue lolling out. "WOOF!"

"Oh no you don't," Anders said, lifting his hands in supplication. "No no no, doggy slobber does NOT improve my looks, you beast…. I'm a _cat_ person, I tell you!"

Barkly sneezed with disapproval, then whined and sniffed Anders thoroughly. He looked at Solona, then sniffed Anders again, then sat before Anders, his stub of a tail wagging as he solemnly offered a paw.

"Oh…. well…." Anders took the paw gingerly, and the hound wuffed… and licked his face once.

"I think he likes you," Solona grinned.

Anders looked at the smile on her face, and relaxed. If a big, smelly canine could make her that happy, Anders could attempt to like it.

"Still want a cat," he pouted.


	7. Stabbing Pains

"So… this Alistair of yours…."

Solona had been reaching across the game board to make a move, and she froze, her hand hovering above but not yet touching a piece. She shot Anders a look that had made darkspawn soil themselves on the battlefield, chewed on her lip, then studied the board again.

She took a breath, released it in a sigh, and began to reach across the board again.

"...this bloke Alistair…"

With exaggerated care, Solona withdrew her hand without touching a piece, and laid both of her hands quietly in her lap. Her eyes bored into Anders, and she said softly, "Your king, you mean? Fellow who told Rylock I was conscripting you whether she liked it or not, _that_ Alistair?" The words were calm, but Maker, he could see she was seething. "If your strategy is simply to try to distract me, we can set this game aside."

"'Lona..."

"Anders." There was a finality to her words, an invisible barrier that clearly said _Do not go there_.

Obviously, that meant he was not going to give up. "I'm just trying to understand what happened," he said quietly.

She stood up abruptly, her chair skittering back a little as she learned over the board at him. "What _happened_? We _met_, we _lost_ everything we knew, we _ran_, we _gathered_ an army, we _swore_ _undying love_, we _kissed_, we _fucked_, he _ascended_ the throne, I _killed_ the Archdemon, we _parted ways_." She walked, looked out of the window, her arms crossed protectively across her front, her back stiff and her shoulders tight. "_That's_ what happened."

Anders came up behind her, and was about to lay his hands on her shoulders when she said tightly, "Don't."

He stood there, trying to think of how to proceed. "We have to talk about this. It's eating you alive, 'Lona."

"And what am I to talk about?" she said with a humorless chuckle. "How badly I _miss_ _him_? How _stupid_ I feel for putting him on the throne and never considering I could not join him there? Maybe I should talk about _my feelings_ for the well-bred cow he'll marry to impregnate." She began to pace in agitation. "Or, how's this, _maybe_ I should talk about _how I begged him to sleep with another woman on our last night together_, a woman whose dark rite spared us both at a cost I shudder to even consider some nights!" She was shouting now, and Anders could see the tears, unshed, welling up in her eyes.

Barkly raised his head from his basket, walked over to Solona, and whined, pressing his body against hers.

Anders watched her for a long, long moment, and said softly, "Solona… you have to forgive him… this is eating you up inside while from what I can see, he's only made the best choices he can of some really bad ones."

Solona's face twisted, and she was bolting past him, the door slamming open and, in her wake, rebounding against its stops and slamming shut again.

Barkly looked up at Anders and chuffed at him in disgust.

"I admit… that could not have gone much worse."

* * *

Solona stormed down the hall to the armory, and grimly picked up her under armor padding. A quick look to make sure she was alone, and she'd tossed off the robes and pulled on the thick cloth garment.

_Forgive Alistair? How can I forgive **myself**?_

She pushed the thought away. No thinking. Thinking was bad. This was something she could do without thinking about it. Her body knew the way of it so well that she simply lost herself in the textures, the roughness of the unfinshed side of the leather, the smoothness of the tanned, the bite of the buckles. Cold, hard metal laced with lyrium. She shrugged into the plate armor, her fingers tugging and buckling, feeling her magic wash over her and seem to lessen the weight of it. She'd grown quite good at getting in and out of the massive suit on her own.

Once she had the armor on, she buckled her sheath for Spellweaver to her back, and turning on her heel, headed out to the courtyard.

She needed time to NOT think.

Solona walked over to a wide, empty area, aware of the puzzled glances the servants of the Vigil were giving her… with the helm on, they probably had no idea who it was out on the practice ground. After all…. mages didn't wear heavy armor or use swords….

Solona stopped, closed her eyes, and imagined the Qunari, Sten, standing before her. He had sparred with her mentally, philosophically, verbally, and physically, and once she had taken up the sword, he had been a brutal but knowledgeable teacher. She raised the sword in salute, then dropped into ready position.

* * *

**"Solona!"**

Alistair had come tumbling out of his tent barefoot and in his breeches, grabbing his sword just in time to see her smashed off her feet by a wicked pommel strike from Sten. She'd hit the ground rolling, and sprung back at the Qunari, her sword held high. Alistair raced toward them, only to stop in surprise as she snap-fired an arcane bolt at his feet.

An arm across his bare chest barred his further progress as the assassin appeared, as if from nowhere. "Peace, Grey Warden. They are only sparring," Zevran drawled. Alistair shook the Crow's hand off and watched the petite mage facing off against the grey giant, every fibre of his being screaming to interpose himself between her and that monster's two-handed sword.

Sten grunted, slamming her wide open ribs with the flat of his blade, and sending her staggering. "You are too open with your swings! Keep your blade close to your body!"

Solona grunted, and readjusted her stance, circling the Qunari slowly, looking for an opening. He feinted toward her once, twice, and she did not take the bait, simply keeping her balance on her toes and looking for an opening.

Sten swung at her.

Solona ducked under the swing, reversed her sword and caught the giant at the side of his jaw. Sten staggered, but stayed upright, and Solona put a wickedly sharp dagger inches from his throat. Alistair hadn't even seen her draw it, she'd moved so fast.

"Ah," Zevran smirked at Alistair. "Now THAT, I taught her."

"_Paashera_," Sten rumbled, "clever, to get in close to your enemy." He nodded to her. "You are improving, _Kadan_."

She nodded back, breathing hard, and sheathed her weapons. "Thank you for the lesson," she said, bowing slightly before pulling off her helm.

Her face was sweaty, and half masked in blood, but she grinned at Alistair all the same as she wearily walked toward her tent. He could see a small but messy cut on her forehead. He intercepted her, grabbing her arm."What was that?!" he demanded.

"Sparring practice," she said. "Since that elven spirit taught me how to use my magic to learn swordplay, I thought I'd best learn it."

"_I'd_ have taught you," he said in a slightly accusing tone.

"You'd have gone easy on me," Solona corrected. "Sten won't." She didn't shake off his hand, but simply stood, looking him in the eyes calmly.

"And Zevran," he bit off. "What else has _he_ been teaching you?" He knew it was a mistake the moment he asked; the hurt that flashed in her eyes before the Warden mask dropped down over her features was answer enough.

Her lips tightened to a thin line. "He's been teaching me how to avoid getting stabbed through the heart," she said quietly. "I think perhaps I haven't learned that lesson any better than I've learned to parry Qunari, though."

Alistair let her go. "Solona…" he said pleadingly.

"I get it," she said quietly. "He's attractive, and we like each other's company. He's an outrageous flirt, and I'm an incorrigible smartass who won't hesitate to call anyone's bluff. And we're both rather… experienced… physically." She tucked her helmet under her left arm, shifting uncomfortably.

"Solona, please…"

She looked into his eyes solemnly. "I pledged myself to you, Alistair. I've never done that before, and it scares me. In the Circle, to love… it gives others… power. Power to take away… what I can't bear to lose." She'd never had so much trouble speaking - she had always been a master with words. She sighed.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly.

She reached up and stroked his cheek. "I am, too. I will make it plain, then: I will not break faith with you, Alistair. Until you tell me to go…."

He'd hugged her fiercely. "Not. Ever."

She'd hugged him back, clung to him as if he were a lifeline, then disengaged and ducked into her tent.

* * *

"Andraste's flaming _**arse**_!"

Solona finished the complicated dance she was doing with the sword, and pulled off her helmet, laughing to see Ander's shocked face. "Join me?" she said, her face quirking into a half-smile.

"Where did you learn to…. _**how** _did you learn to…"

"Elven knowledge," she said. "They teach - or taught - some of their mages to wield both blades and magic." She walked over to him, sheathing her sword, and tapped him on the tip of his nose playfully. "I could even teach _you_, if you're interested."

"So this is how it works, then," he said, confused. "I piss you off, you come out here and stab things, and all's right with the world?"

Her eyes went a little sad again. "Well… there are still a _few_ things that stabbing won't solve… but in general it is a heck of a problem solver."


	8. Howe Nice to Meet You

"So," Anders mused, watching as Solona carefully replaced each piece of her armor on the stand in her room, "are you ever going to explain to me how it is you're running around in massive plate with sharp and pointies AND still able to spell-cast?"

"It IS a bit incongruous, isn't it," she chuckled. "We're told our whole lives that it's robes, maybe leather armor for us if we're lucky, maybe a dagger, because heavier armor will disrupt our magic… and for the most part, that's right." She adjusted the blue plume on her helm.

"A couple years ago I was hunting werewolves in the Brecelian Forest…" she said conversationally.

"You say that the way other people say, 'and last night I had a bit of mutton stew and a mug of ale,'" he marveled.

She gave him an amused look. "A couple years ago I was hunting werewolves in the Brecelian Forest, and while searching through some ancient elven ruins, I came upon a phylactery in the form of a gem. When I touched it, I became aware of a presence in it… desperate for peace. It was the soul of an elven mage-warrior, and as a reward for smashing the gem and freeing him to oblivion, it gave me the knowledge of how to alter my magic to act as strength for wearing heavy armor, and to be able to use swordplay as well." Her countenance darkened as she remembered, "Alistair, Oghren, and Sten - and to some extent, Zevran - trained me after that… helped build my technique and my muscles. So yes, I can run people through while cone of cold-ing their nethers off."

"Such a lovely mental image there, my friend," he chuckled.

"I'll teach you the way of it," she promised. "That way you can choose between the tortured sexy look and the 'I laugh at arrows!' look."

No sooner had she finished putting her armor away than there was a rap on the door, and a private stuck her head in. "Your pardon, Ser," she said, "but, well, we've a prisoner we caught skulking about the place, and Seneschal Varel would like to know what to do with him. The guards are pretty annoyed – he was safe in the dungeon during the darkspawn attack while good men and women died."

Solona frowned. "And how do we know a good man did not survive by Andraste's grace?"

The private seemed a little taken aback. "Ser?"

"Can you tell, private, just by looking at a person, if they are good or evil?" Solona asked.

"Um, well, no ser…. you need to observe what they do, what they say…"

"Right." Solona nodded. "Well, let's go see what he has to say for himself. I can hardly free or condemn a man I have not at least spoken with…."

* * *

The moment she laid eyes on the dark haired man sitting on the floor in the prison cell, Solona thought two things. The first was: _wait a minute, do I know this man?_ And the second was: _sneaking into a keep full of Wardens is no small accomplishment. Be 'ware._

"Ah, if it isn't the famous Warden-Commander of the Grey, Hero of Ferelden, slayer of archdemons and sneaky mage-thief," he drawled sarcastically, getting to his feet. "Aren't you supposed to be ten feet tall, shooting lightning from your fingers, and singlehandedly saving the world from blights AND bandit attacks?"

"You forgot devastatingly gorgeous deadly sex goddess, snappy dresser, and adopter of strays," she retorted, trying to place him. "So tell me… what are you doing in there?" Solona's eyes flickered over him quickly, noting there were hardly any bruises and that the cell seemed clean.

"Imagining my hands around that slender throat of yours," he grated.

"Well, THAT'S not very friendly," Anders said.

"And why SHOULD I be," the young man snarled, shaking the cell door.

Solona frowned, and tilted her head, squinting. Something so famil—

The eyes. And the curl of the upper lip as he sneered.

"Ah," she said, understanding.

"Ah," the man repeated mockingly.

She stepped closer to the door. "Given you're not wearing skirts, it's safe to say your name's not Delilah… and from what I gather Thomas also perished during the Blight." She nodded to him. "Nathaniel Howe, I presume."

"Such manners from the murderous bitch who slew my father and confiscated his lands," he snarled.

Solona remained cool. "Truly? I'm honored to be compared to a Mabari. You'd do well to recall they are quite deadly when roused." She tilted her head."Now tell me, Nathaniel Howe, what it is you hoped to accomplish here?"

He glared at her. "At first, I thought to lay a trap and kill you for what you've done," he snarled, "but what's the point of that? It will not bring back my father or my family's honor. And the thought of you _Wardens_ in my home is almost too much to bear." He looked away. "So I came to take back some mementos of my family."

Solona nodded to herself. "For what it's worth, I am sorry for what's happened to your family," she said. "You clearly had nothing to do with your father's actions, nor did your sister. The whole situation is… unfortunate."

"Oh, _most_ unfortunate, my dear _Arlessa_!" he spat.

"Tell me truly: if I were to order you released, where would you go? What would you do?"

He smiled wolfishly. "I don't know. I might come back again… and not be caught."

She understood him and his rage all too well. _I have lost all that I loved, and I would do whatever I could to get it back if I had any chance of success._

He turned away from her, mistaking her thoughtfulness for judgment. "Ah, do your worst," he spat. "Thanks to you, the name Howe is that of a pariah - no one will care if you slit my throat and dump me in a ditch!"

Solona looked at him queerly. "So you do not see that your father's choices - to murder the Teryn of Highever's entire family and steal their lands - to kidnap and torture nobles, templars and elves alike - to have held captive Queen Anora - to promote thugs and rapists as city guards - none of that led to people's poor opinion of him? And are you so eager to die that you wish me to slit your throat? What do you think I am, man? A common murderer, or a blood mage?"

"Oh, there's nothing common about you, save your birth!"

Solona snorted. "You've no idea," she said. "Well, if you hate what's been done to your name, should you not get out there and work to clear it? Atone, perhaps, for the evil things your father did to sully it?"

"Right away. I'm sure your good King Alistair would accept a Howe into his service."

Solona pushed her hair back behind her ears. "He probably would, if I asked him."

"Don't do my any favors."

_I mustn't assume that he is his father, _Solona reminded herself. "So… what skills do you have, other than burglary? Well, and being an impressive fighter… four Wardens to take you down? Truly?"

"Truly. And I'm a good cook." He grinned darkly.

"Right. Poisoner you are,then." she said, nodding. "That and the bow I saw in your effects would suggest rogue… maybe assassin?"

"My, but aren't _you_ clever?"

"Clever enough, so far," she replied. "Anyhow, I've decided what I'd like to do with you."

"Oh? this should be good."

"Yes, I think so. I'm conscripting you to be a Warden."

"You WHAT?" That came both from Anders and from Howe in the same breath.

"We need a talented rogue, Anders. He's one, without a doubt. And I need to rebuild the Order, and that means creating new Wardens. He gets to live in his ancestral home. I get to keep an eye on a man who's told me he wishes to kill me, rather than let him wander about to pick and choose his own time to attack me." She looked Howe full in the face. "And he gets the chance to redeem his name while gaining the protection of the name Grey Warden."

"You're _insane_," Anders said, shaking his head.

"No. Hang me instead," Howe demanded.

Solona looked at him sharply. "Did I give you the impression you had a choice in this matter? Or is it that you are you simply content to _whine_ about your lot and not improve it?"

"The mage is right: you ARE insane to have a Grey Warden working with you who wants you dead!"

Solona shrugged. "Lots of people have wanted me dead. Hell, some of my _best friends_ wanted me dead."

Howe snorted. "I can see why." He looked at her appraisingly. "I'm still trying to figure out whether you think this is a vote of confidence or a punishment…"

She smiled, a little sadly. "Wait till I explain the retirement package to you…"


	9. Joining

Solona was practicing her katas in the yard again, moving slowly as she placed her feet and hands just so, the sword weaving slowly but smoothly through the air. She closed her eyes and continued, trying not to let her sightlessness throw her off balance.

High on the wall above and behind her, a shadow flickered very nearly where she and Anders had sat watching the sunset.

"Hey, Commander." Oghren said, hefting his axe as he approached her on what she'd begun to think of as her practice field. "Mind if I join you?"

Solona quirked a half smile at him. "What, one Joining wasn't enough for you?"

Oghren snorted. "Yeah, like _that_ one hasn't got a grey beard yet," he chuckled. "And maybe not. Seriously, Commander, it couldn't be scarier than chugging blood?"

Solona went very quiet for a moment. "Oghren… the Grey Wardens do what they must. But I tell you truly… if you or Anders had died…" She shook her head. "Mhairi was bad enough, Maker watch over her. But after all we've been through together I'd lost either of you..."

"Ahhhh, now don't get all mushy on me," he snorted. "Sparklefingers and I ain't goin' nowhere… especially with, ah, new recruits and all."

Solona put sheathed her sword, looking at Oghren very seriously. "You mean Nathaniel," she said.

Oghren shook his head. "I dunno what you were thinkin' there, truth be told. A Howe, after all they did to you?"

"Nathaniel is not his father," Solona said, rubbing both her temples with her right hand - in exactly the same way, Oghren noticed, that she had done when she had persuaded Alistair to go along with something she'd chosen to do. "_The Howes_ did not become my enemy. _A_ Howe did. I'm ashamed it took me as long as it did to realize it." She pointed back vaguely toward the keep. "That man is in mourning and in pain, and right now feels every heart and hand in Ferelden is raised against him. He has lost family and home all in one stroke, and even the comfort of his good name. He returns home to find it given away to others, and his father's killer standing in his father's place. Is it a wonder he hates me?"

She shook her head. "I wonder what _I_ would have become without Duncan… without…" She cut that thought off where it lay, and slashed her hand through the air in front of her as if defending from a blow. "No. I know that answer. I would have been dead by now."

Oghren shook his head. "You always were one for pickin' up strays."

"You should know." Solona sighed. "I want you to leave him alone," she said quietly. "He's got enough to deal with right now."

"Such as figuring out which two of yer ribs to slip his dagger between?"

She took two swift steps and was before Oghren. "I _mean_ it," she said, and he noticed her eyes were oddly bright. "He needs time to sort out for himself how he feels, and he doesn't need to have his dignity shredded at every turn." She took a deep breath. "However opposed he and I are, Oghren, he deserves the freedom to be his own man - not what others hound him into. It's the least I owe the man."

Oghren shrugged. "Well… if that's the way you want it…"

Solona nodded curtly, and headed off for her room.

The shadow eased back along the parapet, considering. He had heard, but was not sure if he believed. Did she feel pity for him, or sympathy? Was she merely a good actress, or truly defending him?

Did she believe he could be more than others said?

He would have to wait. And watch.


	10. Promises

He had been so _nervous_, Solona remembered.

Sure, they'd flirted, forever it seemed, but Alistair had been raised by the Chantry, and that meant a chaste life. It was no wonder he was so endearingly awkward when it came to the opposite sex, and although Solona was no innocent, she respected him and his embarrassed plea for more time. Much as her physical needs were frustrated, she did find it kind of exciting and sweet to wait for him. It didn't mean she hadn't been mightily tempted by the elf, Maker knew… but she'd pledged herself to Alistair and good, bad or indifferent, she would keep that pledge.

She kept her pledges.

Mind you, she'd wondered with a tinge of bitterness more than once if, given the danger of their mission, that meant her sweet, funny Alistair would die a virgin. That was usually when she was most feeling the lack of him… physically. She'd immediately felt guilty and added a _Maker forbid!_ to the thought.

And so, after months of waiting, and hot and heavy kisses that left her aching for more, she'd been utterly blindsided when he'd approached her at camp.

She'd been sitting at the fireside, tending to the pot of stew. It was her turn, and she'd managed to get a few nugs and some wild onions. That and some carrots and potatoes from their stores had blended beautifully. She'd been so tired she had not yet removed her armor, and she stirred and tasted, adjusting the seasoning. There was no reason their meals could not be palatable as well as life-sustaining.

The first thing she'd noted was - _Maker's breath, his HAIR is messy!_ And not the carefully contrived tousled look he usually wore, either - it looked like he had been nervously running his fingers through it.

He'd paced back and forth, clearly agitated. As she'd got to her feet to ask him what was wrong, he'd turned sharply and nearly knocked her off her feet. The clank as they'd came into contact with each other must have been heard clearly across the campsite. He'd grabbed her arms to steady her, and the look in his eyes was odd… panicky.

_Oh no. Oh no oh no oh no oh no,_ Solona had groaned inwardly. _This was it. It was happening. Wynne had convinced him that their relationship had to be broken off in the name of duty…_

"All right…I guess I really don't know how to ask you this…"

"Alistair, what's wrong… are you feeling all right?" Solona had tried to brutally shove down her anguish, and put a hand to his forehead. _Maker, but he felt feverish! _"Are you _sweating_?"

"No! I… I mean yes, I mean I'm a little nervous, sure, not that this is anything bad, or frightening or…well…yes!" He really looked flustered, panicked even.

Solona wished she were strong enough to find the words to comfort him, to tell him it was all right and she understood that he couldn't be with her THAT way… but she couldn't.

"Ohhhh," he moaned, "how do I say this… you'd think it would be easier, but…"

And then, his eyes had focused, and found hers, and _locked_ with hers. She'd heard herself inhale sharply, and she stood there, trembling. _Maker,_ she'd thought in wonder and despair_, I really __**do**__ love this man… and this love is going to destroy me._

"Every time I'm around you I feel like my _head's_ going to explode! I can't _think_ straight!"

_Wait…. what? WHAT?!_ Solona had felt the corners of her eyes getting damp, and her mind was whirling. _What is he saying? Is he letting me down easy or not?_ "I… Alistair…" She tried to smile. "I… feel the same way."

He'd grinned at her, then. "Well, I hope you mean the head exploding thing in a _good_ way." He'd reached for her hands, and held them gently… her small, quick and slender in his large, calloused, but somehow gentle ones. "Here's the thing…."She'd looked up at him then, her heart pounding.

"…being near you makes me _crazy_," he said, his voice breaking breathlessly, "but I can't imagine being without you. Not… ever."

_Maker's breath_, Solona thought, and felt the tears start, her heart so filled with joy she could hardly breathe.

"I… don't know how to say this another way," he'd said, looking away, his face burning. There was something so vulnerable in his eyes that her heart had ached for him. And then he'd looked her straight in the eyes, and his gaze had become heated, intense. "I want to spend the night with you. Here, in the camp." The nervousness crept back into his voice again. "Maybe this is too… fast, I don't know, but… I know how I feel."

Solona had squeezed his hands, smiling tentatively. "Are… are you sure this is what you want?" She hadn't felt this… nervous about sex for a long time. But then, she'd known… it _wasn't _just sex. She loved him, utterly. Completely. And it scared her to death and made her happier than she had ever thought she could be.

"I… wanted to wait for the perfect time…. the perfect place, but… when will it _be_ perfect? If things were, we never would have met. We sort of… stumbled into each other. And despite this being the least perfect time, I still found myself falling for you… in between all of the fighting and everything else." He had looked at her with such tenderness, such vulnerability. "I really don't want to wait anymore. I… I've never done this before, you know that… I want it to be with you. While we have the chance. In case…."

"Don't say that, Alistair. There will be time later…."

"Will there? You don't know that. _I_ don't know that. I'd like to be able to say I threw caution to the wind at least once."

She stroked his cheek, searching his eyes. "You're sure then? No… regrets?"

He smiled, holding her cheeks tenderly. "How could I ever regret you?"

Solona had stood on her tiptoes, sliding her hands up his arms to rest on his shoulders, and stopped his words with a kiss. When she broke it, she'd smiled, and gave him a heated look, then kissed him again, harder and more desperately, as his hands spanned her slender waist, and he'd pulled her tightly against himself.

_Maker's breath, he will __**end**__ me_, Solona had thought.

She'd broken the kiss then, and taking him by the hands drew him back towards his tent. When they got there and knelt beside each other, they'd laughed nervously, nearly despairing over how much armor still stood between them.

Silently, she had started to unbuckle his armor. She'd done this many times before, helping him into and out of his armor… though not with this particular reason in mind. Alistair had only hesitated a moment before he'd begun to unbuckle hers as well.

"Right then, off with the armor," he'd murmured into her ear, repeating her own words from Maker knew how long ago to him. She'd grinned, kissed him, and kept working.

They'd set aside each piece carefully. That armor had stood and would continue to stand between them and death every day, and neither of them would simply cast it aside no matter how desperate they were to touch each other. There'd been something very…. exciting, about the slow exposure, the putting off of what they used to protect themselves from the hurts and malice of the world… and then they were in their small clothes.

Solona had gasped when Alistair gathered her into a crushing hug, her head tucked beside his neck, her arms wrapped tight around his shoulders. She could feel his muscles tight below the skin, ran her hands over the scars, old and new, along his back. She'd found his lips and kissed him until they were both panting and dizzy with wanting.

"Maker, I am a lucky man," he'd breathed, gently laying her back onto the bedroll, kissing her nose, looking hungry and nervous and eager all at once.

She'd never forget the look on his face as she'd guided him onto her… into her. Or how tentative he'd been at first, afraid that he'd hurt her….

She'd kissed him, and pulled him closer… and nibbled his ear and urged him on, quietly assuring him until she could no longer string together a coherent thought, let alone a sentence. And then she'd clutched at him frantically, his name a litany on her lips, a prayer, leading him until he'd found that he'd known this delicious frenzy all along, that this rhythm was the rhythm of their pounding hearts, of the blood running through their veins, until they'd urged and driven and coaxed each other to a shattering release.

She'd held him captive in the cradle of her hips, kissing him when he would have pulled away, worried that he was too heavy for her. "Never, love," she'd whispered, nipping at his lower lip, stroking his back sheened with sweat, pinching his buttocks and grinning wryly as they both felt the evidence of his returning arousal.

"Oh, Maker," he'd moaned into her ear, "you're going to be the death of me."

"But what a way to go." She'd arched into him, kissing him gently, and showed him how sweet and gentle they could love as well.

They'd slept soundly, side by side, with him spooned behind her, no nightmares disturbing their sleep. At some point Alistair had pulled a blanket over both of them, and he'd cradled her protectively in his arms all night.

In the morning, she'd led him off to the stream so they could both bathe before anyone got up. She had felt eyes on the back of her neck, however, and turned to see a glimpse of amber eyes and dark fur skittered away into the bushes. _Oh well…. it's not as if it's going to be a secret for long - if it ever was,_ she'd thought.

They'd bathed each other, dried off, and dressed in a comfortable silence, and were headed back to camp hand in hand when Alistair had said tentatively, "You know, according to the sisters at the monastery, I should have been struck by lightning by now."

"Oh, really?" Solona had laughed, turning to face him, walking backwards so she wouldn't have to miss seeing those amazing eyes and how they were crinkling happily as he teased her.

"Yup! Lightning first, then the end of the world as we know it. I'm a bad, _bad_ man," he grinned.

Solona had reached over, given him a playful slap on the rump. "On the contrary," she'd purred, "I think you're a very very GOOD man."

"Oh!" he'd breathed, looking at her mischievous and clearly lustful look, "Keep looking at me like that and we'll never get anything done today." Then he'd sobered. "You know, the rest of our little group is going to talk. They DO that."

"Let them talk," she'd said playfully, "First one to be a pain in the ass gets their nethers frozen off."

"Ouch!" He'd grinned, then stopped at the edge of camp, stroking the side of her face and looking at her as if he'd never get enough. "Thank you," he'd said, leaning in and giving her a very tender kiss.

She'd smiled and whispered, "No, thank you," against his lips.

"I'm so glad you were my first…. and if I have my way, you'll be my last and only." He'd taken her face in his hands and kissed her again until she was dizzy.

"By the Ancestors, either _knock it off_ or let us join in!" Oghren had groused.

Solona, for a wonderm had blushed. It was Alistair who had laughed and kissed her soundly again.

"Have I told you that I love you? No? I love you, Solona."

"I love you too, Alistair," she murmured against his lips.

"Seeee? Was that so hard?"

She'd given him a wicked, wicked grin, and opened her mouth as if to answer. He'd placed his fingers on her lips, grinning, and flushed. "Enough, love. There are darkspawn to slaughter, yes?"

* * *

"Commander?"

Solona startled, and sat up, pinching the bridge of her nose. She was still at her desk, and the reports, letters and bills she was sifting through were spread across it. _Thank the Maker I didn't drool on them_, she thought.

She looked over her shoulder to see Nathaniel standing there in the doorway, a mug of something steaming in his hands, and she stood, pushing her hair back over her ears. "Ah. What… what can I do for you?"

"Varel's looking for you, as is your 'pony'," he said, giving her a very considering look. "I think perhaps the later in particular needs reassurance that you haven't been carried off by darkspawn." He shifted, frowning. "Do you often sleep in your office?"

"Seems like it, these days," she said, frowning at the paperwork spread before her. She shrugged, and said quietly, "I guess I'm finding being the Commander and the Arlessa takes more hours than exist in the day."

He stepped forward, handing her the mug. "No poison, I assure you," he said in what almost might be a joke. "And your problem is that you're only trying to do both jobs right."

She was surprised to hear something that wasn't bitter from him, and accepted the mug with a nod, sipping from it. "Thank you," she said.

He'd started to turn and walk away, and then turned back. "Why?"

"Sorry?" Solona cradled the warm mug in both hands, studying his face.

"Why do you trust me? After all that's happened you'd have had every right to have me thrown out of here or hanged, and yet you have me here living under the same roof, working with you… accepting food from me!"

She took another sip. "Should I not?"

He shook his head. "You are a maddening woman!"

"So I've been told."

"Answer me plainly: _why_?"

Solona nodded slowly. "Because you deserve it," she murmured, "as you do not deserve the things that life has thrown at you."

"I don't want your pity!"

"Good. You don't have it." She set the cup down. "Later today I'd like your help; I'm going to see the extent of the damage from the attack down below in the basements. I'm told there are tunnels that interconnect the outbuildings and your familiarity with them would be invaluable."

He studied her as if trying to see into her thoughts, then slowly nodded. "You'll have it," he said gruffly, and walked away.

Solona watched him as he went_. I'll always treat you fairly_, she thought as he disappeared down the hall. _That, I promise_.


	11. In Vino Veritas

There was a quiet knock at Solona's door.

She was dressed simply, in breeches and a loose fitting tunic - comfortable clothes in which to lounge. Solona glanced at Barkly, her mabari, and the big brindled hound lifted his head, sniffed, then began to wag his tail. She got up from where she'd been sprawled on the bed, reading, and opened the door.

Anders stood there, with two wine glasses held by their stems in his left hand, and two wine bottles held by their necks in his right. "Can't sleep?"

"And knocking wouldn't have awakened me?" Solona asked, shaking her head with a smile and stepping back to let him in.

"See, _this_ is why we need you around, to see the flaws in our plans," he said, grinning at her.

"You're incorrigible." She walked over to a small table and sat in one of the two chairs there.

Anders spared a very obvious glance at her slightly mussed bed, then to Solona sitting at the table. She raised an eyebrow, and he joined her with a sigh.

"I thought," he said, setting a glass in front of each of them and setting one of the bottles on the floor next to his chair, "we should toast." He began to work the cork out of the bottle in his hands.

"A toast?" She nodded. "A toast to what?"

The cork came free with a loud pop. "A toast to absent friends, perhaps?" he suggested.

Solona nodded. "To absent friends, then."

Anders poured, handed Solona a glass, and raised his own. "To Wynne - healer of bodies and consciences," he said.

"Wynne," Solona agreed, clinking her glass against his and drinking deeply. Wynne had gotten Solona over a number of really rough patches at the Circle… and had not censured Solona when they met after the whole Jowan debacle. Without Wynne and her occasionally unpleasant pointing out of inconvenient truths, Solona would never had been able to stand against the Archdemon.

Solona poured next, and lifted her glass. "To Niall… who died bravely and gave me the means to defeat Uldred."

Anders nodded solemnly. "Niall." They tapped glasses and drank again.

* * *

They were most of the way through a third bottle of wine when Anders lifted his glass. "To our good King Alistair!"

Solona's eyes flashed pain, but somehow she raised her glass. "Alistair."

Anders reached over, massaged the back of her neck. "I wish you'd talk about it," he said quietly.

"What is there to say?" she said. "I gave a Templar too much power over me… the one thing I couldn't stand to lose…. and he took it away." She sniffled once, and then was horrified to find herself crying…. really crying. He'd gotten up then, knelt before her, and simply opened his arms to her. And then she was hanging onto Anders and bawling her eyes out, shaking helplessly in reaction to this storm of emotions.

Barkly had run over and was whining, licking her face, trying to help. He looked up at Anders and barked once, sharply, then cocked his head.

Anders, for his part, simply held her and stroked her hair until the tears started to run their course. Then gently, he rose and drew her with him towards the bed.

She stopped, and shook her head, eyes still bright with tears and pain. "No," she said, "No, I can't."

"You need rest and comfort," he said gently, as she shook her head stubbornly. He sighed. "Ser Barkly?"

The dog was on the bed in a flash, and flopped down at the opposite end on the covers with an inquisitive whine, taking her wrist in his mouth and tugging. Solona let herself be drawn reluctantly onto the bed, where Anders lifted the covers and tucked them around her, snuggled close by the dog's solid presence. Anders put a knee to the mattress, and even as she began to protest quirked a smile at her. "You'll ruin my reputation yet," he murmured, lying atop the covers beside her, snuggling in tightly and throwing an arm over her. "Anders, sleeping with a beautiful woman and just… sleeping. What _would_ they think back at the Circle?"

"I'm your _commander_," she said quietly. "This isn't proper."

"You're my _friend_, and someone once told me that friends help each other," he said, stroking her hair. "Ahhh, the things I do for you," he teased. "Sharing a bed with a smelly canine."

Barkly lifted his head, looked Anders in the eye, and silently raised his lip just enough to show one fang. The meaning was clear: _Watch it, human._

"I think our chaperone is of the opinion that less talk and more rest would be appropriate," he said, putting his head down.

He felt her relaxing, caught between the warmth of the hound and the comfort of his arms, and he said softly, "You really love him."

"_Loved_." The word was laden with hurt.

"Love," he corrected gently. "Or it wouldn't hurt so much."

She was very still, and he had almost thought she'd fallen asleep when she said, "I was a fool."

"Undoubtedly." He kissed the back of her head. "But what a glorious one, to save the world."

"Damn his honor," she said, her throat closing up on her, her vision blurring again.

Privately, Anders entertained the fantasy of turning the King into a frog. But his own anger at Solona's being hurt was not important. "Tell me, sweetheart… does he need an heir?"

"Yes." The word was very quiet.

"Could you bear that child? Could the two of you even _produce_ one together?"

A long pause. "Probably not," she whispered in a voice laden with grief.

"And if you could…. would the child of a mage be recognized as an heir?"

She didn't answer. She didn't have to.

"Ok, last question," he said, holding her tightly. "Could you… having given your heart to him…. body and soul, completely and without reservation…. could you have _shared_ him with a wife had he given you the choice?"

Her whole body started to shake with her repressed sobs.

He stroked her cheek gently, murmuring nonsense into her ear until finally, Solona slept.


	12. Beneath the Surface

"Have I told you how much I hate the blighted Deep Roads? Yes? Well, there now, I've said it… I HATE the Deep Roads," Anders muttered.

Solona glanced at him over her shoulder, and he fell silent.

Nathaniel appeared from the shadows ahead her. "You were correct," he said quietly to Solona. "There is a broodmother up ahead."

Solona and Oghren traded glances. Broodmothers were tough to take down - usually surrounded by their progeny and by their own tentacles. She, Oghren, Wynne and Leliana had barely survived taking down the one Branka had used to breed darkspawn to trip the traps leading to the Anvil of the Void.

"All right." She looked at Nathaniel. "What's the layout of the chamber she's in?"

"Big, sort of oval. There is a rock ledge high along the left side, and some stalagmites on the right that could provide some cover."

"Any cover on that ledge?"

"Some," Nathaniel said, in a tone that meant not much at all.

Solona nodded. "Go for a high perch, and rain arrows down from above. Anders… well, you know what to do. Oghren, seems like you, Barkly and I go right up and dance with the lady."

"Eh… after you, Commander…."

* * *

The fight was NOT a short, nor an easy one. There were bodies strewn all over: darkspawn they'd killed, humans and dwarves they had not.

Oghren had been knocked unconscious, and Anders was nearly drained, throwing healing spell after healing spell. In the end, Solona had been knocked across the room by one of those flailing tentacles, and as she tried to clear her vision and hear more than her ears ringing she saw Nathaniel leap from the ledge, his bow left behind, to land on the Broodmother's grossly swollen shoulder and drive both his daggers into her temples. The immense horror had screamed and died with much shaking of tentacles.

"Maker's breath," Solona moaned, unable to hear herself.

As Anders slid down the stalagmite to sit on the floor, Nathaniel wiped his blades and sheathed them, then helped pull Solona to her feet.

There was a soft scrape of something against stone, and Nathaniel and Anders both whirled toward it. Solona followed their movement and yelled, "HOLD! HOLD!"

There was a dwarven girl peeking out from behind the stalagmite, and Barkly had put himself between her and the nervous thief and mage. She was very young, and her face stained with tears, but she pet Barkly tentatively.

Barkly wuffed, wagging his tail (such as it was) and licked the girl.

"Wonderful," Nathaniel groaned. "Covered in darkspawn blood and bruises… and now we have to babysit a kid."

Anders pushed himself erect, and the girl squeaked and tried to hide. Barkly licked her and nudged her towards the mage.

"And who do we have here?" Anders got down on one knee and smiled at the child, opening his arms to her. "What's your name, princess?"

The girl studied him with large, brown eyes. "Ravina."

"Well, hello your highness, the princess Ravina. I am Anders…."

"…the court jester," Nathaniel added.

The girl stuck her tongue out at Nathaniel. "Mean." She took two steps and put her arms around Anders' neck.

"You tell him, princess," Anders said, winking at Nathaniel. "Now where do you suppose we'd find your mama and papa?"

"Lost," the girl said, and looked like she would cry at any moment.

Oghren was finally waking up. Shaking his head, he looked at Anders and the dwarf child. "Where'd SHE come from?"

"Lost," the girl said again.

"Well, we'd better find her folks, don't you think?" Solona said. The ringing in her ears was starting to subside now. "And Anders…?"

"Yes?"

"That means searching down here," Solona told him, handing his a lyrium potion. "She goes topside, she's castless. Right?" She looked at Oghren, then chugged an injury kit.

"Right."

"Oh, joy." Anders stood, holding the girl on one hip as he picked up his staff again.

Oghren and Nathaniel looked at him a bit oddly, and Solona, following their looks, shrugged. "What?"

"Hey Sparklefingers, you a daddy or something?" Oghren demanded.

"Not…. as far as I know," he said, looking puzzled and slightly uncomfortable. "Why do you ask?"

"You look… comfortable… with children," Nathaniel said.

Solona laughed. "As comfortable as I am, I'm sure. Mages are brought to the tower when they start manifesting their powers. Some as young as four or five. Well, naturally, that means everyone looks after anyone younger than themselves." She grinned. "I'm sure Anders and I have changed enough diapers between us to fill Lake Calehad, easily."

Nathaniel looked ill. "At four or five..."

Solona shrugged. "I was six. Might have been easier, younger. Less to miss."

The girl hugged Anders around the neck, and laid her head on one of his fluffy paldrons. "Home?" she asked hopefully.

"You bet, princess." He turned to Oghren. "You're the one with stone sense…. lead on."


	13. The Truth of the Matter

"The truth of the matter, Anders, is that I am a coward," Solona said softly, staring into the fire.

"They don't generally have celebrations in a coward's name, commission statues, write songs…" Anders grinned, "unless you got some other poor bastard to kill the archdemon and die, and took the credit." The smile faded. "You didn't, did you?"

Solona raised an eyebrow at him.

"Right… perish the thought. But then, how DID you manage to cheat death, oh fearless leader?"

Solona could not meet his eyes. "You remember the apostate I mentioned?"

"The Morrigan," he answered. "Witch of the Wilds or some such."

"Close enough." She turned to look back into the fire.

* * *

"If you do not," the witch had purred, "why, then, one of you is like to die on the morrow. If you let the fool accompany you, can you ever doubt that if this Riordan dies before he reaches the archdemon, your love will strike the final blow to save his country and the woman he loves? And if you prevent him, then 'tis he must suffer the rest of his life without you. 'Tis not needful, when there is a perfectly good way out!"

Solona had felt sick to her stomach. She had already thought this out, and resolved that she would strike the final blow if Riordan could not. She had not wanted to die – but the thought of living in a world without Alistair was too bleak to consider. Looking at the other side, she could understand that he, too, would be faced with the same problem – how to live another thirty years in despair, guilt, and longing. "What do you propose?"

"There is a ritual – an old magic – that provides an out for all the Wardens. And 'tis not so much to ask…"

"Then ask." Solona had turned. "Whatever it is, I will do it – for Alistair's sake." She could hear Wynne's question to her in that moment, asking her what would come first – her love, or her duty to save everyone. Why could it not be _both_?

"Sadly, you cannot. But Alistair can." Morrigan had stalked over to the bed like a hunting cat and sat down, her amber eyes locked on Solona, her lips pursed in a smile. "You must use all that lovely persuasion to get him to agree to his part in this ritual, and then you both may rest easily, knowing that you both are safe."

Solona's eyes had narrowed. "What are we talking about?"

"If you are able to convince him, Alistair will come to me, tonight. In the dark of night, he and I enact the ritual. He will father a child upon me… a child conceived with the taint. 'Tis early enough in its development that there will BE no soul to displace and destroy. When one of you strikes the killing blow, the soul of the Old God will find that taint and go to it, not to either of you. None of you wardens will die, and I will leave. You will not follow. The soul of the Old God will be born again, free of taint, and I will raise it as I please."

Solona's eyes had gone wide. "And… if I were even to think this were a good idea, how am I going to convince Alistair to take part? I think it's pretty obvious that he is NOT very enamored of you."

"You will have to convince him, then. Do not prevaricate… we both know perfectly well you have persuaded, you have misled, and you have outright lied to get what you wished in our time together."

Solona had turned and stared into the fire, hating herself, hating Morrigan, and knowing that the witch only spoke the simple truth.

* * *

Solona had lain in her bed, alone, her arms wrapped around herself, shivering. She had not been able to close her eyes – every time she had, all she had seen in her mind's eye was Alistair and Morrigan, rutting together. And staying awake had been torment too… thinking about what was happening down the hall.

_I am going to regret this for the rest of my life, knowing that I asked – _begged_ – Alistair to do this thing. Maker, he'll hate me and himself after this…._

The door to her room had opened, and Alistair came in, shutting it behind himself. His clothes had been askew, and had obviously just been thrown back on. The look in his eyes had been so lost – caught between disgust, anger and fear… and over it, love. Solona had felt her heart break to see him.

"It's done," he had said tightly.

Solona had gotten up to hug him, but he stepped back from her, his face twisting. "No. Not like this… not straight from…." He looked as if he didn't know what to do with himself.

Solona moved quickly to the stone tub in the corner of her room and conjured up a blizzard over it. She didn't give a damn if she freaked out every templar within ten miles – if any of them came calling tonight, she would kill them.

"'Lona?" Alistair looked a little confused. "What are you…"

"When I was sixteen," she said, very quietly, "I was…" She swallowed hard. "Assaulted. At the Circle. Not all of the templars at the Circle are… professional. And…. I bathed. It… helped, I think."

Alistair nodded numbly.

Once the tub was overfilled with snow and ice, Solona let the spell fade. She gathered her strength again and sent a jet of flame over the tub, letting the snow melt in a sizzle of steam until she had a large tub of hot water.

Alistair took his shirt off reluctantly, and Solona turned to give him some privacy. The silence was heavy and awkward between them as she turned to get soap and a washcloth. She heard him ease into the tub behind her, and waited until she heard him sigh before she turned back around.

She turned and her breath hitched as she saw his back. His shoulders were bruised, and there were scratches striping his back and sides. She wondered who those marks were meant for - simply a result of Morrigan taking her pleasure, or a visual and physical reminder for both herself and Alistair that their consciences did not escape unscathed.

Solona knelt behind the tub, getting the washcloth soapy, and gently started to wash his back. He winced as the cloth skimmed over the scratches on his shoulders and leaned forward a little so she could reach.

Solona bit her lip until it bled as she gently cleaned the skin with the washcloth, and then skimmed her left hand over his back, letting the blue-white healing energy soak into him. She wasn't quite sure when he reached back and caught her hand, drawing her to the side of the tub where he could see her, but his hand was gentle as he wiped away her tears.

"Hey," he said gently, caressing her cheek.

Solona leaned over and hugged him hard, "Sorry… I'm so sorry…. I should never have asked…."

"No crying," he whispered, stroking her hair. Slowly, his arms came around her and he simply held her.

Later, they slept side by side, too emotionally spent to do anything other than snuggle together and wait for the dawn.

* * *

When it had come time to split their forces, Solona had chosen Leliana, Sten, and Wynne to come with her. She was girded for war in her plate armor, with her sword and daggers sheathed on her back.

"You're leaving me at the gates," Alistair had said, his face twisted with worry.

"With Barkley, Shale, Zev, Oghren and Morrigan," she said, "yes. The people need to see their king fighting alongside them… we're going to be a fast moving guerrilla force." She put a hand to his cheek, looked him deeply in his eyes. "We can't be together for this anyhow… if we're both killed, the Blight continues. If I fail…"

"You won't fail."

"If I fail, it will be up to you to finish the job anyway," she murmured.

He stroked her hair. "And if Morrigan lied, you're leaving me behind."

"Ferelden needs her king," she said. "She doesn't want another mage, no matter who she might be."

"You'd better come back," he told her, and kissed her hard.

Solona had broken the kiss and whispered, "You are the best thing in my life," before she turned and ran off, Leliana, Wynne and Sten hard on her heels.

* * *

The archdemon was down, thanks to Riordan – even as it had killed him, he'd crippled it, tearing the membrane of one of its wings. It could still jump and glide a little, but fly – it was mostly grounded. Solona ached – every bone in her body felt pounded to powder, even with Wynne feeding healing spell after healing spell to her. She'd been using a ballista to pound the dragon, and now, she'd finally gotten it grounded for good.

She raced towards the dragon that the elven archers were still harassing, grabbing a two-handed sword that had impaled one of the Knights of Redcliffe. Sten was standing beside Wynne, killing any darkspawn that got too close to the mage.

As Solona ran towards the weakened dragon, out of the corner of her eye she saw Alistair and Zevran burst out of the stairway to the roof of Fort Drakon. She couldn't spare more than the glance, and then the dragon's mouth was opening as it prepared to flame.

Solona threw herself onto her knees, sliding, leaving a trail of sparks as she slid under its neck, slashing the dragon's underside. As the creature screamed and fell to the ground, she panted and rolled to her feet.

"LONA!"

She flung herself towards the dragon, the sword held high, ignoring Alistair, ignoring her fear, ignoring her pain. In that moment all that mattered was her sword and driving it into the dragon's brain.

The pain was incredible as she jammed the sword down. It was as if she'd been struck by a lightning spell. She held the sword and twisted it, screaming in agony, and then the world exploded.

* * *

She was told that Alistair had been the first to reach her, and that he'd cradled her broken body in his arms, pouring healing potions down her throat. That he refused to let anyone else carry her – armor and all, he'd managed to get her to the palace. That he'd never left her side until Wynne and the other healers had told him that she would live….

* * *

"….and then, when I woke, he was gone. He never visited me through my convalescence, though I have no doubt he knew every detail about my health - perhaps even more than I did, at times." she told Anders, her voice oddly calm and quiet. "Except for Morrigan, who'd kept her word and disappeared, the rest of our companions had visited me regularly to chat and probably to distract me from my pain and his absence. The real surprise - at least to me - was Zevran, the assassin. He had not left my side since I was carried to that room in the palace. Professional courtesy, he claimed- as I had watched over him and prevented the Crows from murdering him in his sleep, so he did for me, until after the celebrations.

"And what celebrations there were - state dinners, dances, statues erected, parades had, and a victory tour, showing me off across the country like some particularly exotic example of the best of breed at the country fair." She shook her head, staring into the flames. "And then I found myself marching, alone but for Mhairi, my escort, up to the gates of Turnip Keep, as Wade calls us." She attempted a wry smile. "I think you recall the rest of that day."

She looked back into the flames, as Anders moved to stand behind her, resting his hands on her shoulders gently.

"That bastard," he bit off angrily.

"Don't forget royal," she added, without any real heat, and shook her head. "And the biting irony of it all… we were too afraid to lose each other, and yet there he sits in the royal palace in Denerim, and here sit I in Amaranthine… any further north and I'd be out of Ferelden altogether and in the Free Marches." She shook her head. "I wonder if Morrigan had the right of it - beauty and love being only fleeting, and power and survival being the only things worth pursuing."

Anders squeezed her shoulders. "Careful, sweetheart… I seem to remember such sentiments being bandied about by a certain mage you may remember, bald head, aquiline nose, had to be bitchslapped by the Hero of Ferelden with the Litany of Adralla for being possessed by a pride demon…."

"Andraste's arse, I am tired of being called the Hero of Ferelden," she said quietly. "It makes me sound like I actually had an idea of what the hell I was doing."


	14. Supercede THAT

"And here I almost believed the infamous Anders wouldn't take the bait." Rylock looked at him with disgust. "You've made a poor choice with this one, Commander - Anders will not submit. Not to us, and not to you."

Solona crossed her arms. "It's a good thing I'm not into dominance/submission games then," she'd said coldly. "He's been an excellent Grey Warden so far - oh, right, perhaps that's because I'm not treating him like a trained bear to be leashed."

"_So far_, yes. I'll make sure this murderer is a bother to no one ever again."

"What? No! You can't arrest me! King Alistair himself…."

"…has no authority to prevent this. The Chantry's authority supercedes the crown in this matter." And then she's raised her hands as she'd sneered, "The Grey Wardens have ever been a haven for murderers, thieves, drunkards, maleficar and ne'er-do-wells - but you can hide among them _no longer._"

There was a flash of blue, and Solona slammed against the far wall of the abandoned warehouse. Rylock and her templar companion had also managed to use Holy Smite on Anders, and he was down. _Maker's breath, but it hurt!_

Her head splitting and her mana gone, Solona shook her head, trying to clear it. And in that moment, her time at the Circle came rushing back - the pain, the fear, the absence of privacy, the humiliation…

Rylock laughed as she stepped over Nathaniel and Oghren to help her companion grab Anders. "Nice to see Holy Smite still works on Grey Warden apostates…"

_Betron._

* * *

It had been a few weeks since she and Anders had been caught in the cavern storerooms, and although Solona tended to be wary, she had awakened with a full bladder and no templar in sight to escort her to the facilities.

_Andraste above_, she thought, _I'll just be a moment. It's not as if I will be summoning demons in the washroom._

Pulling on some soft slippers, Solona slipped out of bed and down the hallway. She wondered who was supposed to be on watch, anyhow. It didn't seem right that the corridor was quite so deserted.

She had just stepped back out of the washroom on her way back to her bed when she was grabbed from behind - a gauntleted hand tight over her mouth, an arm tight around her arms, pinning them to her waist, hoisting her off her feet. She tried to yell, but her voice was muffled.

"Weeeeellllll, if it isn't the pretty _princess_," breathed a voice laden with menace near her left ear. She continued to kick, even though she wasn't able to get much purchase or to even get him in the shins. "Your highness…. are you _engaged_?"

_Betron_. Solona's eyes had widened, and she redoubled her efforts to break free. She threw her head back and was blinded by pain as her skull rammed into the front of a templar helmet. Apparently it had not been fun for him either as he staggered.

"ARGH!" The voice grew angrier still, and suddenly, blue flared around the hand clamped over her mouth. Her mana was ripped away from her - it felt like acid running through her nerve endings, and she barely had the energy to struggle anymore. She still tried to free herself, horrified tears running openly down her cheeks.

"You'll pay for that, you little bitch!" he'd hissed, and he'd Smited her again.

Everything had gone fuzzy for a while, and then Solona had half-roused to find herself somewhere cold, and dark. Her cheek was stinging, and she tried to call for help only to find herself gagged, her wrists pinned to the cold, uneven stone of the store room.

Pain.

Violation.

She'd felt something give as she was slapped across the face again, and a hand forced her chin to face what was above her. Solona shrieked inside her head, trying to block it out, trying to retreat into a mental fortress.

"Rules exist for a reason," Betron hissed, "and when you _break_ the rules, you must be _punished_… oh yes…"

Solona had closed her eyes helplessly. Dimly she'd felt herself being struck again, but by then she'd retreated to the Fade. She'd made it, run over the drawbridge into her mental fortress, and dropped the portcullis, cutting herself - her true self - off from what was happening to her body.

_"I could give you power… __**real**__ power…" a whispery voice in her head said smoothly._

_No._

_Look at him… he is a wolf set to guard sheep…. he is a rapist…. a murderer…. it would be so easy…._

_NO._

_How many others has he hurt…. will he hurt? Just let me in…. I will do it __**for**__ you… he's made it __**easy**__…. he's drawn your blood, and you his…_

_ANDRASTE TAKE YOU, NO!_

_Her mental fortress had shattered then, and with a tearing gasp she was thrust back out of the Fade, all too aware of what Betron was doing to her, as the demon laughed in her head._

* * *

Solona grunted and got her feet under herself, and the expression on her face might, by the unflinchingly optimistic, have been termed a smile. Had Barkly been here, he'd have had the same expression, and rumbling growls would have accompanied it. "I knew there was a reason I learned to wield a blade," she hissed, launching herself at the shocked templar and driving a foot of blade straight through the woman's chestplate. _"To end_ _arrogant templar bitches like you!"_

Rylock had fallen, her eyes going blank and wide with surprise, even as Solona set her foot on the dying templar to get the leverage to yank her sword out. There was a ferociously loud clang just behind her head, and gasping, she'd turned to see Oghren's axe blocking the blade that had nearly taken her own head off.

And then it was over, when Nathaniel's dagger slipped under the other templar's helm and cut his throat.

Solona dropped to her knees, breathing hard, trying to avoid being sick. There was a part of her that was shrieking with incoherent rage and fierce joy at what she'd just done; most of her just wanted to curl up in a ball and weep. She indulged neither, pushing herself erect unsteadily after a moment, and yanking her sword from Rylock's corpse. She wiped it on the templar's uniform before sheathing it.

She turned, bone-weary, and caught both Oghren and Nathaniel looking at her. There was shock there… and maybe even a little fear.

"Anders," she said hoarsely, and Nathaniel checked him deftly.

"Unconscious. We had best get far from here before they are noticed missing, Solona." He shouldered Anders as if the lanky mage weighed nothing. "Arlessa or no, killing _templars_…"

She nodded wearily, and staggered towards the door. Oghren shoved a small blue bottle into her hand, and Solona gulped it down thankfully. Within moments, the lyrium potion was racing through her system and she was standing tall. She turned back and looked at her handiwork, her face hard.

"Supersede _that_ authority," she snarled.


	15. Coming Home

Nathaniel Howe slipped up to the battlements of Vigil's Keep. It was a spot he'd always escaped to when he needed time to think and to get away from his father. As he approached the top of the stairs, though, he noticed a shadow already sitting on the wall, and he scowled in annoyance.

As he got closer, he noticed the dying sun glinting on red hair and realized it was the Warden Commander sitting atop the wall, looking out over the keep. For a moment he had the incredible urge to shove her off the wall. He still felt resentful of her being here, owning his ancestral home.

She looked, somehow, younger and less imposing sitting on the wall wrapped in a green wool cloak and looking out over the courtyard, and he noticed a shadow resettle next to her – her mabari hound, Barkly, leaning against her like a giant stuffed toy.

He felt the taint in his blood tingle at the same moment she turned and looked back at him. Nathaniel was amazed at how tiny she looked without her armor. She scrambled to her feet to face him, the hound leaning against her legs..

"Excuse me," she said, the hound heeling without her saying a word, "I didn't realize… I'll, uh, go."

He folded his arms across his chest and glared at her. "Too good to share a view with a Howe?" he sneered.

Her face never changed, nor did her body language – she was good at hiding her emotions. He was _very_ good at reading the tiniest changes in people's eyes, though, and he saw them rapidly change from confusion to anger to shame to… pity? Sympathy? When her voice came, it was low, and even.

"Too good…? No. Not at all." She dusted off her trousers. "I just thought you might want to be alone. This is a good place to… to think… and this was your home first. I thought this might be a favorite spot of yours." She started to walk past him. "I don't want to intrude on you any more than necessary."

If anything, her attempt to be kind annoyed him more. "It's your castle now. Sit where you like."

She shrugged. "Join me, then?"

They sat side by side, and she looked out over the keep. She seemed to be content to sit in companionable silence.

"What was life like in the Circle of Magi?" he asked her suddenly. "You mentioned something about going there at the age of six?"

"Ah." She was quiet for such a long time that he wasn't sure she was going to answer him. "I don't suppose you –or anyone else, other than Anders—really understands what it's like to be a mage in Ferelden. And the sad, sad thing is that Kinloch Hold is… one of the better circles."

She leaned forward, her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. "Being mage-blooded… well, it's not pleasant. Once you exhibit any signs of it, it's only a matter of time before the templars show up. And there's no ifs, ands, or buts – _they're taking you_. If your parents try to hide you – they can be arrested. If they resist – they can be killed. It's no wonder so many parents just abandon mage-blood kids at the local Chantry.

"I was ripped out of my mother's arms at age six," she continued softly, "and I was terrified. Imagine… huge, loud men in armor, faces hidden behind big kettle helmets, hammering on the door, kicking in the door, bursting into your home – and your mother screaming and trying to shield you from them." She stole a look at him, met his steely eyes, and looked back out over the fields beyond the castle.

"Ser Cuthbert was… gentle, for a templar. Not the others. He saw I was afraid, and so he took off his helm so I could see he wasn't a monster, he was just a man in a big suit of armor. And he never put that helm back on while we travelled together. I know I cried most of the time, and I was so tired out that he carried me against his shoulder, patting my back and trying to reassure me that everything would be ok, that I was really only going to my new home. It took us four days to get to the Hold, and then… the boat ride. Even a six year old could tell on that ride that there was no way to escape the tower crossing that water without a boat."

She sighed. "Kids as young as four come to the circle, and they're taken care of in dorm situations. Very quickly it becomes a situation where older kids take care of youngers. It's all you can do." Her face clouded over. "And not all of the templars are Ser Cuthberts."

She fell silent, brooding.

After a few minutes, his curiosity compelled him to break the silence. "Were you happy in the Circle?" he asked quietly.

"Happy." She considered carefully. "I'm not sure that I can answer that." She turned, and looked at him. "You have to understand… it's a very different existence. There's doing your duty to the Chantry. There's fear… a lot of that. Fear of failure, fear of what you might become if you made the slightest slip and a demon got their claws into you. There was no such thing as privacy. There was satisfaction at mastering your education…. And there was satisfaction of …natural urges. There was even a sense of community. But…." She trailed off.

"I didn't… _care_… for anyone… or have them care for me… until I was conscripted by the Wardens. And even that…." She spoke very deliberately, as if trying to work it out for herself. "I'm not even sure if the… relationship I had would ever have been possible… if we had not been thrown together and so desperately afraid… maybe we wouldn't have ever noticed each other." She shrugged. "Even the people I travelled with…. In another life… would we ever have been friends? Would we have had anything in common other than trying to survive?"

Barkly whined and nuzzled her.

"Well, I suppose we would have been friends wherever we met, Barkly." she admitted, hugging the dog around his neck, and it struck him again that in these unguarded moments, she looked so much younger than her years.

"You never left Kinloch Hold? Never went outside?"

She shook her head. "First time I saw grass that I could really remember was the day Duncan conscripted me. It was…. Frightening. To be outside… to see the sky… everything so open… There weren't any windows in the Hold. I think I cried the whole boat trip out of there, curled into a ball in the bottom of the ferry. And people. So frightening…. People you _didn't_ already know. I look at how easily people interact with strangers and I'm amazed."

"You. Frightened of people?" Nathaniel shook his head slowly. "I can't imagine that, somehow."

Solona smiled faintly.

"All you've accomplished…."

"Because I had to."

"You're a born diplomat, though," he said, and realized he meant it. "I've seen you talk people around even when they're…." He paused. "Even when they're very angry with you. You're just so calm, and reasonable, and you listen…"

She quirked a smile. "You learn to be a calm, polite negotiator when the people you're dealing with could kill you with a thought."

"Yes… I suppose you do."

She looked at him. "How about you? What was it like having a real family? Living in such an open, free place?" She looked around, took a deep breath and sighed. "It must have been wonderful to have a family who wanted you and weren't scared of you… who didn't send you away. And to play outside, and not have to worry about anything." She smiled a radiant and sincere smile at him, which faded when she realized that he wasn't answering.

Nathaniel wondered how he could tell her that his own home life had not been the idyllic life she seemed to think it was. He'd been all but exiled to the Free Marches by age 17 because his father had little use for him. And aside from his sister, Delilah, who worshiped her eldest brother… he had little in common with Thomas and was constantly picked at by his father and mother. Only his nanny, Adria, had ever treated him as if he were his own person, really. "We did have fun together sometimes," he admitted, "but families…. Can be complicated."

"Ah," she said faintly, understanding what he wasn't telling her.

"Ah," he agreed.

She blushed then, and the look in her eyes became more hooded… sadder.

"We did have fun outside," he reassured her. "And my little sister – Delilah – she was a treasure." He smiled, and Solona held her breath… such a good face, such a _handsome_ one, when it relaxed into a smile. The smile faded slowly, though, and his eyes grew haunted. "I miss the girl," he said quietly.

He wasn't quite sure how they ended up with Solona sitting so close, gently patting him on the back as if to reassure him that everything was going to be all right… that he was finally _home_.


	16. Can't Stand Losing You

Solona Amell paced the battlements, her strides quick and determined as she tried to think. Templars _daring_ to raise weapons against her and hers? Did they wish to make war, or was this the act of one very stupid, and now very _dead_ Templar?

Alistair would need to know about this straightaway. She didn't give a rat's ass about being diplomatic to the Chantry; he could take a stab at it if he liked. The templars and chantry needed to be loyal to _Ferelden and her king first_… if they insisted on taking orders from the Divine, she might just have to find a way to rid Ferelden of them. And she was very, VERY good at finding ways to DO things she felt she had to do.

Maybe, Maker forgive her, Loghain had been right about _some_ things.

She had never been so angry. Not only was Rylock an honorless, faithless and now rotting bitch, she had dared to claim higher authority than the king? She had dared impugn the honor of the Wardens? Sodding hell, if Andraste herself raised that sly bitch, Solona would run her through again. And again. And again, if need be.

"Hey, Commander," Oghren called up from the stairs. "Anders is awake."

* * *

Oghren had only seen the Warden this angry once before, and the results had not been pretty. In fact, it had ended with Rendon Howe choking on his own blood (best not mention THAT in front of The Howe), Teyrn Loghain ending up a head shorter, and an archdemon blowing itself, and very nearly Solona hereself, to bloody little bits all over Denerim.

He descended the stairs ahead of her, and was wondering if there was any point in trying to talk to her when she paused. "Oghren."

"Yeah?" he asked, wondering if he should play it cool or address himself to his ancestors.

"Thank you," she said, and slapped him on the shoulder. "That sword. Stupid mistake. If you hadn't caught the blade on your axe, I'd be dead."

"Please," he'd snorted. "You're just too sodding MEAN to die."

"She's right," Nathaniel said, stepping out of the shadows. He regarded Solona. "And we'll need to talk about what we did in that warehouse. But that's a conversation for another time."

Oghren braced for the explosion - or the cutting remark, at the least. He was shocked to see Solona and Nathaniel simply regarding each other evenly, and then her nod to him. _Andraste's tits, were the commander and Howe actually seeing eye to eye?_

"After dinner," she promised, and headed back to her room.

* * *

Anders squeezed his eyes shut against the light, his head pounding, but from the glimpse he'd gotten of his surroundings, he knew one thing for sure.

"Uhhhhng," he said, clutching his head, "I can't be dead… it hurts too much. And this is not the barracks."

"No," a soft voice agreed, "it's not." He felt a vial being placed against his lips, and the same voice saying, "Drink."

He swallowed rapidly, and the headache began to recede almost immediately. He felt a lot more aware and looked around.

Solona was sitting on the edge of the bed, with an empty vial of lyrium potion in her hand. "Better?"

"Immensely." He looked around. Large comfortable featherbed, check. Desk buried under paperwork, check. Barkly dreaming on an enormous cushion in the corner, check. "And I reiterate… this is _not_ the barracks." He considered Solona with a cocky grin, which faded as some of his memories came seeping back. "Rylock?"

"She came down with an acute case of dead," Solona said.

Well, that was certainly a conversation ender. "Solona…." he said, feeling the dread uncoiling in his stomach.

Her answer was quite concise. She swung her legs around, knelt on the bed, leaned over, took his face in both hands and kissed him hungrily.

Anders' eyes widened, and he felt his heart nearly stop in shock. Then he grabbed her as well, pulling her close as he deepened the kiss. She gasped at the intensity of the kiss, and his tongue darted into her mouth briefly. She made an endearingly hungry sound as she, too, let her tongue explore his mouth, her eyes shut, her ginger eyelashes brushing his cheek. Maker's breath, she was pressed up against him, and she'd gotten toned in the years since they'd been at the tower… everything about her was harder: her muscles, her responsibilities, even the look in her eyes: harder.

He was harder, as well.

Solona finally broke the kiss, her eyes opening, and looked a little breathless. He couldn't stop looking into those deep blue eyes - so expressive. Right now, concerned, confused…scared? and struggling to be calm. "She was going to kill us."

"I gathered that. Well, me, at the very least."

"I wasn't going to let that happen." Her tone warned that she was deadly serious. "Anyone who thinks attacking the Grey Wardens is a good idea is going to learn fast that it's really, really not."

Anders grinned a lopsided grin at her. "Oh, attacking _Grey Wardens_," he said in a 'who do you think you're kidding' tone. "So, ah, tell me fearless leader…. why am I in _your_ bed?"

Solona's blush was really something to see… a deep, hot pink that seemed to extend from the open neck of her robes upward. She disengaged from him… gently… and sat back on the edge of of the bed facing away from him.

"Well, you were… injured. I didn't know how badly. And having healers hover over you in the barracks all night…. that would have kept everyone else up. _Awake_," she corrected quickly, at his cheeky grin.

"So you didn't want anyone else… up…"

She grabbed the pillow out from under his head in one fluid motion and hit him with it. "Be serious!" she said with exasperation.

"All right." He studied her carefully. "Maybe I should go."

She froze, turning to look at him very carefully, and spoke slowly and deliberately. "To the barracks? well, I'm sure everyone knows where you were last night. Of course since Sigrun came up to the battlements to see how deep a groove I'd worn in them pacing up there last night, everyone knows where _I_ was too."

"Solona… _templars_."

She went white, then her face twisted in anger. "No."

"They'll notice she's missing, if they haven't already. It's only a matter of time before they come looking."

"Anders," she said, and she held both his hands tightly, "Don't. Please, don't. I can't order you to stay, and I wouldn't try but please… this is my problem. My responsibility. They attacked the Commander of the Grey and three of her Wardens, and that is _it._" She closed her eyes, trying to force calm.

"I'm sorry… I know this isn't fair play…" she said softly, "but I can't…" Her words trailed off, and she stumbled to her feet, pulling away from him, wiping her eyes with the heels of her hands. She stood, her back to him, facing the door, and took a deep, steadying breath, standing very tall, as if she'd just slipped on a uniform.

In a way, he supposed she had.

Solona walked out of the room, shutting the door with a quiet click behind her.

* * *

_*****Almost certainly, I'm going to end up slipping some more chapters in between "Grey Warden Matters Supercede Everything" and this chapter - but this one's finished, so up it goes. ;) Be patient with me if things move around a bit.*** Shoutouts to Hannah, Cowoline and dominicgrim for your comments!**_


	17. Second Thoughts

Solona poured some white wine into Nathaniel's glass, and waited for him to take the first sip. He looked up in surprise, commenting, "This is very nice… but I don't recognize it. This is not a vintage from my father's cellars."

"No, it's not." She grinned wryly. "It might _possibly_ have come from Kinlock Hold."

"Might it, now," he said with interest, looking at her in a considering way, as he sipped.

She passed him a plate with chunks of cheese and fruit, and they nibbled in the quiet companionship they'd slowly been building over the months. When Nathaniel shifted restlessly in his chair, she refilled his glass and said, very directly, "I want you to be my second in command."

His piercing steely eyes met hers, and he frowned slightly, considering. "Now that," Nathaniel said after a moment, "is a surprise."

"Why?" Solona asked.

"To be perfectly honest," he said, "I would have expected you to choose Anders. Or possibly Oghren. You've known them both a great deal longer than you've known me. You certainly know Anders… _better_."

Solona didn't miss the slight emphasis Howe placed on that word. She leaned back in her chair and sipped her wine. "Hm. Interesting." She leaned forward, swirling the wine in her glass. "Tell me… what qualifications do you think either has to be my second in command?"

"The dwarf is a fighter of renown. His ability to clear an area of darkspawn is unparalleled."

"Oghren is also a berserker - he loses his head completely in a fight and keeps fighting till everything in front of him is dead. Great trait in someone you want to aim at the horde. Bad trait for a leader. Let us also not forget he is no diplomat, he's often a drunkard, and much as I love him, he's an obnoxious little shit." She laughed to take the sharp edges off the comment - she really was fond of her companion - but she was completely aware of what a disaster he'd be for her second. "So simply being a great warrior is not good enough."

"Anders and you are very close," Nathaniel said carefully. "You know each other very well, and can probably tell exactly what the other is thinking."

Solona didn't flinch from this one either. "Anders is indeed a very old and trusted friend, but I have to be honest… I don't think he would be suited to lead. He's a bit flighty for it." She met Nathaniel's eyes directly. "And I think it would be a monumentally bad idea for someone… that close… to be second in command, don't you?"

"Hmm." Nathaniel pondered as he popped a chunk of apple in his mouth. "So. Why choose The Howe? I am not exactly one of your closest friends."

"Do you need to be?"

"I am opinionated and stubborn."

"You speak your mind and are unflinchingly honest about your opinions."

"I disagree with you. Often."

"What _possible_ use would a yes-man be in a situation where difficult decisions must be made?"

Nathaniel's mouth formed the ghost of a smile. "What other faults will you transform into assets?"

Solona set her glass down. "You've got the keenest eye I've ever seen - you can look over a map or a battlefield and see patterns and opportunities at a glance that the rest of us need to pore over to see. You wouldn't hesitate to put yourself - or your men - where they will do the most good, even if there is a good chance that you, or they, might get badly hurt, IF the situation warranted such a sacrifice. You don't, however, place people in danger unnecessarily. You _do_ tell me when you disagree and explain why, and that's probably the most important part - because you don't do it to be a spiteful ass, you do it because you have a firm conviction that I need to consider your view. If you're my second, we should probably try not to disagree passionately in front of everyone - we'll come up with a shorthand that means, "I need to speak to you." And despite your wanting to kill me when you met me - you are an honorable man, and I trust you to do what's best for your Warden brothers."

Nathaniel looked a little stunned. "So I see you haven't given this much thought."

"Howe, I'm serious. You're the best man for the job, and I would count it an enormous favor if you accepted the position."

His eyes narrowed. "Are those your only reasons?"

"No. You grew up here. You're likely familiar with the other nobles of the arling. You could help me avoid some of the political pitfalls."

He nodded, and extended his hand. "I accept."

Solona accepted his hand in a surprisingly firm grip. "Good. Welcome aboard."


	18. If You Love Someone

Solona Amell stood before Knight-Commander Greagoir at Kinloch Hold, smiling faintly. She was dressed in a deep purple robe with the silver and blue griffon of the Grey Wardens stitched on her front. Standing at her left shoulder was a rather nervous-looking Anders, and at her right was Nathaniel Howe.

"Good day, Knight Commander. Warden-Commander Solona, Wardens Anders, Nathaniel and Oghren to speak with the First Enchanter," Solona said evenly.

Greagoir's face clouded a bit. "So that's where you've gotten off to, Anders." He stepped closer to Anders.

Solona stepped between the two men, and although she was very careful not to appear aggressive at all, her blue eyes were cold and sharp. The Knight Commander took a step back.

"Warden Anders and I have business with the First Enchanter," Solona said evenly.

Greagoir nodded, and motioned to one of the templars standing in the waiting area near the front door. "Take them to the First Enchanter's office," he said.

Solona stiffened as the templar drew near, and their little group moved out.

"Do they think we've forgotten the way to Irving's office?" Anders asked quietly.

"We're not Circle mages anymore; we're Wardens," she observed. She was looking at their escort out of the corner of her eye, and then…

_Maker's breath_. He was wearing the helm, and she couldn't be sure, but the body language – she knew it as well as she knew Barkly's.

"I hope you are well, Knight Captain," she said softly.

He stiffened.

_I was right. It's Cullen._ She felt something painful twist in her chest. _Damn Greagoir… he knew. He couldn't not._

"Enchanter Amell."

"Warden-Commander, actually," she said quietly. "You know Warden Anders."

Silence.

Solona fell silent. What was the point of tormenting Cullen and herself? What was done was done. He'd made it very clear a year and a half ago that he hated all mages, that he especially hated her, and that he hated himself for ever having had feelings for her.

Just before they reached Irving's office, she stopped, and turned toward Cullen. She kept her hands folded in front of her, and didn't attempt to get any closer, to touch him, even though everything inside her urged her to make contact.

"Thank you," she said softly.

Silence.

"I never had the chance to tell you that. I knew that you protected me when I was a teenager here at the Circle, after…. Well, after. So thank you. And if there is ever anything I can ever do for you, ever…. You'll have it."

He stood very very still, silently.

She nodded, and stepped into the First Enchanter's office.

* * *

"Please, sit down," Irving said pleasantly, indicating some seats around a table. There was fruit, cheese, bread and wine on the table.

Solona smiled. "Irving, a pleasure. I confess, it is a little strange to be back here. May I introduce you to Nathaniel and Oghren? You know Anders."

Irving sat. "Gentlemen. It is so good to see you, Solona. May I be so bold as to say how proud we are of you." He squeezed her hand warmly. "And Anders… a pleasant surprise."

"First Enchanter," Anders said, nodding to him.

"I've always regretted how I left," she said, "although in some ways, leaving has been the best thing that possibly could have happened to me." She smiled. "How have you been? How has the Circle fared?"

"We've rebuilt quite a bit since you left," he said, "And your relationship with the King has allowed us a greater degree of freedom since the death of the Archdemon."

"We're rebuilding the Order as well," Solona said, "and we've come to ask… if there are any mages you believe would be good candidates for the Wardens." She leaned forward a little and smiled. "I can't fault your _first_ suggestion."

"No, I suppose not." He looked across to Anders. "And I can't fault your first choice either."

Anders looked a little less nervous.

"Well, are you here to conscript…?"

"No." Solona shook her head. "Volunteers."

"I'm sure that Greagoir will be pleased," Irving said with a chuckle.

* * *

"Twelve candidates." Nathaniel said, as they walked from _The Spoiled Princess_ back to The Pilgrim's Path.

"They're all strong magic users," Solona replied, "and really – even with the greater freedom there – if _you_ could live in a place where you could actually go outside and see sun, wouldn't you?"

"Big risk," Nathaniel observed. "None of them may survive."

"Big payoff if they do." Anders replied.

Solona nodded. "Right. And we're going to make that payoff bigger still."

"Back to the Vigil?" Oghren asked. "I sure could do with some decent ale – not that pisswater we were drinkin' with the mages."

"Hmmm, no… not quite." She traded a look with Nathaniel. "I think we need to make a side trip… We're going to have to outfit our new charges, after all."

Anders frowned for a moment. "But the Order…."

"I think new robes and staves may be in order," Solona continued blithely, "as well as picking up a selection of books for the Vigil's library – spellcasting research, you know."

"But haven't we just borrowed…."

"Seriously, there is nothing for it. We need to visit _Wonders of Thedas_. Anders, I'm putting you and Oghren in charge of this pack of recruits. Let them get whatever is reasonable, and then head back to the Vigil. " She looked at Nathaniel, and he nodded to her subtly, a slight declination of his head. "Nathaniel and I will make a brief visit at the royal palace."

"The royal…." Anders frowned. Now he _truly_ was confused. It had been his impression that Solona would rather cut her own throat than meet with the King.

* * *

"Sooooo."

"So." Solona smiled. "You're looking… well."

"You as well." There was a long, pregnant pause.

She walked over to a large balcony, looked out. "Nice, er, palace."

She felt and heard the buzz of darkspawn taint, and turned to find Alistair standing just behind her. She faced him.

There was so much unsaid between them, and Solona realized their body language mirrored each other's: arms crossed across their chests, weight on their left legs, right hip canted. Closed in. Protected.

"Solona, I can't tell you how sorry I am about all this." Alistair started to pick up his hand to push the hair behind her ear the way he used to, and froze, dropping his hand to his side.

"It was my fault too," she said, looking down. "I pushed you to do it." She shook her head. "I'll be honest: I was going to back Anora for queen… until she backstabbed us and made it look like we kidnapped her. I couldn't support her after that. If she was that blatantly duplicitous…."

He nodded. "I know. Good of Ferelden and all that." He sighed. "You know, I wish I could just go back to Vigil's Keep with you and just be a Grey Warden."

_Maker, that was tempting._ "It was easier being ready to die for the good of Ferelden. Not so easy to _live_ for the good of her." Solona gave a very tired, half-hearted smile.

"How have you been, Solona? Really?"

She looked up at him. "Well, still dying in about thirty years – no surprise for you, I'm sure. In relatively good health otherwise." She shrugged. "Rebuilding the order out at the Vigil – or as Wade calls it, Turnip Keep."

"Did I hear correctly… you actually conscripted a Howe?"

"Do you know," she said, "I considered conscripting Loghain too. That was about two seconds before my stomach started churning at the idea of having him at my back."

"But a _Howe_?"

"He's not his father." Solona looked at the carpet, kicked at an imaginary speck of something. "So… betrothed?"

Allister looked away. "Soon. That's what they tell me."

Solona thought about the letters they'd retrieved from Ostagar. "Not to Empress Celene."

Allister shuddered violently. "_Maker, no!_ A good Ferelden girl, I hope, thank you very much."

"You might make a better political match with a Nevarran or a Marcher."

"Perhaps." He looked tired. "You don't really want to ask me about my future wife."

"No. Not really."

"And you? Have you… met anyone?"

"Plenty. But not in _that_ way." She hated how much this hurt, trying to fix the frayed edges of their relationship. Perhaps in time, they could be friends. Right now… it was all so raw and painful and awkward.

And then she felt his arms come around her. She should have stepped away, she knew it, and it was just on the tip of her tongue to tell Alistair so, but she found herself hugging him back, her head tucked under his chin. She fit there, the way she always had, and it just felt so _right_.

"I've missed you," he said softly. "Do you remember when I asked you if you'd ever miss fighting darkspawn…"

"And I asked if you _really_ meant if I would miss you." She looked up. "I _do_." She stepped back reluctantly. "And then I told you my home was with the Grey Wardens..."

"And with me." He smiled sadly. "Well, your home _is_ with the Grey Wardens, at least." Alistair took her small, calloused hand in his larger – still surprisingly calloused – one, and he kissed the back of her slender fingers, his warm brown eyes meeting her deep blue ones. "Be well, Lona. And stop worrying about your man Howe."

Solona's eyes widened, then narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"Surely by this time he's managed to slip past a rather addled Templar at the Chantry door, and some shockingly unobservant city guardsmen between here and the market district gate. Commander Kylon sends his regards, by the way." He gave her one of his heartbreakingly goofy smiles, and turned and started to walk back inside from the balcony…. then stopped, and returned to her. He pressed something into her hand, something small and hard and wrapped in black velvet, and slanted a quick kiss across her lips before disappearing back inside.

* * *

Back in her room at Vigil's Keep a week later, she finally unwrapped the black velvet cloth to reveal a small ebony box, with a rose carved in the top of it. When she lifted the hinged top, she saw two phials – the only two Nathaniel had not been able to find in his search in the Denerim cache under the chantry. All twelve of the phials belonging to the recruits had already been destroyed; and she lifted these last two out with shaking hands.

She traced the labels on the phials, then put them in her coin pouch. She shut the box, kissed it, put it on her dresser, and walked up to the battlements where Anders was waiting with a bottle of wine and a couple of glasses to watch the sunset with her.

Both phials made an incredibly satisfying crash as they exploded against the cobblestones below.

* * *

.

.

.

.

**Ok, I had to explain for myself why it was that _there weren't templars hunting Anders through Kirkwall_. The idea that the Ferelden Chantry would simply stop at the border, and that the Free Marches Chantries, along with the Nevarran, and Orleisian would not have been alerted never made much sense to me given that the Chantries seem to all be interconnected. That Alistair had managed to get hold of Solona and Anders' phylacteries (or even that they'd been destroyed by the Wardens just in case) made sense to me - unless of course we assume the joining renders them utterly useless as the blood represents the pre-Warden mages.**


	19. Guess Who's Coming to Dinner?

Solona's eyes snapped open, and she felt the kiss of cold steel caressing her throat.

"Ahhhh, my dear Grey Warden. It is clear that you are in desperate need of my services yet again. For if I were a less friendly sort, you would have woken up dead, so to speak."

"Zev." She turned her head to find the blonde Antivan elf stretched out at full length beside her on her bed, the dagger making gentle strokes against the skin of her throat. "Well, you were right." She smiled.

"About many things, yes. To which thing in _particular_ do you refer?"

"You always _did_ say it was a matter of time before you would share my bed."

The elf laughed, the crow's feet around his eyes crinkling, and he smiled a genuinely warm smile, sheathing his dagger smoothly as he brushed the backs of his fingers across her cheek. "That I did," he chuckled.

"I'd ask how you got in here, but I doubt I would get a straight answer." She sat up, swung her legs over the edge of the bed, and got up, rubbing her eyes and groping for her robe. "Perhaps a better question: _why_ are you here?"

"Can it not be simply that I was drawn across Ferelden by your breathtaking beauty, my deadly sex goddess? No? Then perhaps boredom, and wanting to see these Grey Wardens you've collected - and perhaps make myself useful in training them." Zevran was behind her already, holding her robe so that she could slip into it.

She did, and tied it shut. "Hmm, let me think a minute…. you're hired."

Zevran tutted. "Your skills at negotiation have deteriorated, my dear Grey Warden. To simply capitulate without hammering out the details…?"

She shrugged. "We both know you're the best, what's to argue?"

"Your faith in me is humbling," he grinned. "Now. Would this arrangement include breakfast?"

"Lunch, dinner, various snacks, armor and weaponry, and a place NOT IN MY BED to sleep as well." Solona slipped behind a screen to dress, and emerged a few minutes later in loose trousers and a blouse. "Come on, I'll even buy."

* * *

Solona and Zevran stepped out of her room just as Oghren turned into the corridor.

"Oghren! So this is where you ran off!"

Oghren grinned and elbowed the elf. "Well well, what - or who - you been doin', Zevran?"

"A gentleman never tells," the Antivan said with a smirk.

"Like I said…."

"Boys," Solona said in a decidedly sweet tone, "would this be a good time to remind you that Winter's grasp and smallclothes do _not_ go together particularly comfortably?"

Oghren and Zevran caught up as she led them down to the dining hall, and Solona smiled. There had been plenty of ribald songs and jokes around the campfire in her year and a half on the road, and while it felt oddish to have it in here, in Amaranthine, it also felt a good deal like coming home. How the rest of her Wardens would react to this new addition was going to be interesting.

Of the twelve recruits they had wrested from the Circle, five had survived. Solona prayed that at least the other seven had taken some solace in dying free mages - something that was nearly unheard of once one had passed the gates of Kinloch Hold. It was for these remaining mage-Wardens she could see Zev's brand of fighting being useful…. most warriors held to the idea "kill the mage(s) first!". Given their weakness in fighting training and their woefully lacking armor, it was in fact a great strategy: kill 'em before they can get a spell off.

Solona aimed to change that. She could teach the Arcane Warrior skill to perhaps one or two of the strongest, but assassin skills seemed to be just the thing for the others. Strike quickly enough and with enough surprise, and one could end a threat before it actually bore fruit. Being able to blend into the shadows: also a good thing for mages.

Yes, she thought… this could work out well.


	20. Timing is Everything

"My dear Grey Warden, you are in a bit of a predicament, no?" Zevran said with his usual charming smile and sultry tones. Once again, he had appeared in her rooms, this time around 2100 hours, with a couple of apples. He'd tossed one to her and taken a big bite out of his own.

Solona laughed out loud, but the smile didn't really reach her eyes. "Only a _bit_, he says," she chuckled, eating her apple. "Well, let's see, I'm twenty-five and only going to get to reach the ripe old age of fifty-five, give or take a few years.

"Every family I've ever made for myself has been torn away from me. I'm a mage, so most people are terrified of me as being one breath away from insanity or possession or both. Then we have the whole mages can't have titles things, and yet here I am the Arlessa of Amaranthine, and the nobles here can't wait for me to make a misstep so they can trip me up and tear me down.

"I'm the sodding Hero of Ferelden, which terrifies some, angers others, and has a third faction of folks stunned with hero worship. I'm not sure _which_ is worst. They don't know what to make of me: I'm a mage outside of the Circle, but I'm not an apostate. And I'm the Hero. And I had the bad taste to live, so NOW what?

'I'm now the Warden-Commander of all of Ferelden, and having to rebuild the order by myself. I'm making the rules up as I go along." She laughed humorlessly. "So there you are. A _bit_ of a predicament."

"There is also the matter of your broken heart," he said smoothly, reaching out and pushing an errant lock of hair behind her ears.

Solona reached up and took his wrist, and looked the assassin in the eyes. "Zevran," she said warningly. She knew that for elves, playing with their ears was a precursor to playing… elsewhere.

"My dear, it is like riding a horse…"

"…at which, by the way, I am abominable," she interrupted, "having had no horses at the tower for some odd reason… they would have been SO practical running up and down stairs…"

"…when you get thrown, you need to get into the saddle again."

Solona frowned. "I think I'm done with getting ridden hard and put away wet," she said, with the ghost of a smile.

"Ah, deflection with humor and wit. I wonder where you learned that trick, my heart?"

Alistair's face flashed in her mind's eye. Solona let go of Zevran suddenly, her face burning, and turned away. "This discussion is over."

Zevran moved behind her quietly, and gently put his hands on her shoulders. "As you wish," he said, in that way he had when he intended to keep right on discussing it. "However, I understand your reticence. The men here, you're their commander. It might…. complicate things for you to become intimate with them, yes?" At her strangled groan, he nuzzled her ear briefly, breathing into it, "But I am NOT a Grey Warden. And perhaps that lack of complication suits, no?"

"No," she said gently. "I'm just… I'm not…."

"Ready," he supplied mercifully. He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek – chaste as a brother's or cousin's. Then again, he had known of brothers and cousins who…..

Solona's head fell forward with a deep sigh as Zevran began to massage her shoulders, and he tsked at her. "Dearest heart, your muscles are knotted. It is long past time you had a massage to relax them."

"Zev.…"

"Nothing more than a massage, my love, I swear," he said. "No designs… well, no _immediate_ designs on your virtue."

"Such as it is," she said quietly.

"Such a prude! I find it amusing that I need to remind _you_ of all people about our shared philosophy regarding the joys of sexual congress," he said. "As I recall, our discussions led us both to the conclusion that we agreed: to be enjoyed often, when, where and with whomever possible." His warm brown eyes were filled with concern. "And that but for your pledging your heart to the templar, that you would have likely continued with that philosophy."

He gently guided her to her bed, and coaxed her to lie face down on it. Barkly raised a low, warning growl as Zevran began to work on the length of her back.

"Ah, Ser Barkly," Zevran said conversationally. "Chaperoning, I see? I promise, at no time will I go any further than your mistress is willing."

Solona lay very still as Zevran's fingers found all of the knots in her back and loosened them. At first, the pressure of his fingers was painful as he prodded and pushed at the muscles. She knew, too, that he was also feeling not just tight and stressed out muscles but scar tissue. So much scar tissue: where she'd been stabbed, sliced, bitten, burned, bashed, had broken bones pierce her flesh… she might well be twenty-five, but her body had been beaten and magically healed so often it resembled that of someone at least a decade older. Maybe two. Possibly three. That didn't even take into account the scars no one would ever see, no less real than the ones one could touch.

Zevran was one of the few people whom she did not feel self-conscious about seeing (or feeling, as the case may be) her scars; as her companion over the past year and a half he had been there either to see each injury happen, or to see the aftermath of it after she came limping back to camp. Besides…. he had plenty of his own. And not all of his were visible, either.

Alistair had never trusted the elf – perhaps it was simply the idea of an assassin in their midst – but Solona suspected it was jealousy as well. She and Zevran had had an understanding of exactly who each of them was almost from the start, and where the boundaries were. There was much the sheltered mage and the freewheeling assassin had in common, even if their lives _seemed_ very different. Zev had said some time back, and it was true: neither he nor she were the product of idyllic childhoods.

Both had lost their respective families very young.

Both had lived in an institution that curtailed personal freedom and could cost them their lives if they stepped out of line.

Both had been physically, emotionally and sexually abused as children.

Both viewed sex simply as something pleasurable, not necessarily as anything meaningful.

Both had trust issues that they covered up with humor.

Both were feared as deadly and unpredictable, unreliable people.

Really, Solona thought, it was no wonder that she and the Antivan Crow got along so smashingly… and she remembered, quite well, that when she was helpless and convalescing, he of all the Blight Companions had stayed at her side constantly until she was conscious and able to think, move and defend herself.

* * *

"Love? No, my deadly sex goddess, it is but an illusion. A useful one to _exploit_, no doubt, but do not get caught up in the lie. It will only hurt you in the end."

Solona had stolen a glance across the fire pit to where Alistair was poking at the fire rather briskly (almost angrily?) and putting on more wood. "You don't think love is _ever_ possible?"

Zevran's eyes followed hers, and he sighed. "Must I watch you willingly place your neck in the snare? You will regret it, you know, if you take this game too seriously." He turned his back to Alistair, pitched his voice so that only she could hear. "He is a boy, and he thinks his first taste of candy is all there is. But, we both know, there are all kinds of candy, all different flavors, and he's going to want to sample them all. And maybe he will decide that his luscious caramel cluster is less pleasing to him than a chocolate covered cherry, yes?"

"Maybe he only wants caramel clusters. Maybe that's _all_ he wants for the rest of his life," she said quietly. She didn't know why it seemed so important to convince him.

Zevran shook his head. "Peace, I say no more. I will sorrow on the day that you find your fantasies of forever are merely that – not because it is _true_, for I know that. Because then _you_ will know it is, as well."

* * *

Zevran had been as good as his word. He alone had been there when she finally realized how much of her life had been torn away when Alistair ended the relationship, and he had said nothing but simply held her as she had sobbed until there was no tears left.

"You are thinking unhappy things," Zevran observed. "I can feel it in your shoulders. Best to let it go, sweet my heart. The past, it is fixed; we cannot change it. The future… _that_ is where your thoughts should go." He straddled her and began working on her lower back.

Solona moaned in happy relaxation as Zevran kneaded her lower back, then slipped back until his knees were just beside her own and he began to knead her derrière.

And of course, that was when they both realized that they had not locked the door, because with nary a knock, Anders came sailing in at full steam, whatever cheery greeting he was to give her dying on his lips with a sort of fragile, frozen quality.

_Awkward_.


	21. Healing Magic

_Kill. Me. Now._

That was the first coherent thought that had flashed across Solona's brain as she took in the scene in horror.

She was face down on her bed, in breeches and a loose shirt, and had been making soft, appreciative noises in the back of her throat.

The door to her room had swung open, and Anders had glided in, a devil-may-care grin on his face, a couple of wine glasses dangling from one hand, a bottle of wine cradled in the crook of his arm, and a plate of cheese and bread and grapes in the other. "So…." He'd stopped dead in the doorway, mid-word, and his face had gone red.

Zevran Arainai, sexy elven assassin, had been straddling her thighs and giving her a thoroughly relaxing massage. She could still feel his exquisitely talented hands kneading her glutes, and heard his cheery, "Join us, Anders! I'd be glad to help you work some of _your_ kinks out as well!"

**AWKWARD****!**

Solona heaved herself to one side and Zev took the hint, throwing his leg back over her so she could get up. She was ferociously red in the face, and she rolled to her feet on the other side of the bed quick as a scalded cat, as she tried desperately to find _something_ to say that could possibly make this NOT be the most embarrassing moment of her life. She had gathered armies, encouraged flagging spirits, travelled the Fade and beaten demons there, tackled werewolves, rallied terrified soldiers, faced down AND BEATEN the bloody hero of the River Dane in full sight of the Landsmeet, killed the sodding Archdemon for Andraste's sake, and surely NOW, something _very smart_ would come to her, something that would thaw the atmosphere in here and make her not feel like she'd be caught with her hand in the cookie jar and OH MAKER, why was this so horribly wrong, it was ZEVRAN, for heaven's sake, they were friends and they _hadn't been doing anything wrong_ and _Andraste's flaming arse_, they were both fully dressed and….

"_I didn't do it!_" she blurted. _Oh Maker, smoooooooth._ _Kill me NOW._ It didn't sound any less ludicrous dropping from HER lips.

And Zevran, apparently, was enjoying this. "In or out, Anders…. or perhaps, in _and_ out…. poised on the brink, it just drives everyone involved a little crazy."

_More_ innuendo. Solona made a strangled sound deep in her throat and wished the ground would open up and swallow her.

"I, uh, see you're… busy." Anders set down the goodies in his arms on the table, bowed stiffly. Started to walk away.

Solona took a step forward, faltered. "Anders, it's…."

"Our fearless leader has not been training as she should have been in my absence," Zev said smoothly. "We overdid it, somewhat. By the time we had finished, she was _very_ sore."

Ander's jaw twitched a little.

"In _stealth, daggers_ and _duelling_, of course. In the courtyard. Dear me, do Fereldens think EVERYTHING is about sex?" Zevran sounded mildly horrified and amused all at once.

"As the name _**ANDERS** _might indicate, not only _**Fereldens** _think that what you talk about is inevitably related to sex," Anders growled. "Especially since it IS."

If Zevran realized that Anders was Not Amused, he showed no sign, simply plunging on ahead with a smile. "To the best of my ability, I was trying to relieve the soreness. HER soreness." He glanced at Solona, and with a wry smile, plunged onward. "But perhaps that is a LITTLE out of my area of expertise… I understand you are a healer." He sketched a little bow, and began to leave.

He stopped just outside the door. "Same time tomorrow, dear heart? For the dagger practice, of course."

"Zevran," she said quietly, "I may kill you yet."

"Not the way _you_ throw, dear one." He brushed by Anders and was gone.

Barkly sneezed, got up from his cushion in the corner, and gave Solona and Anders a look of sleepy doggy disapproval, yawned, and trotted out after the elf.

Solona's knees gave out, and she sat - or rather dropped gracelessly into a sitting position - on the edge of the bed as Zevran finally disappeared. Head hanging, eyes shut, she started to massage her temples with her left hand, wishing that not ONLY would the ground open up and swallow her, but that the massive headache that was threatening would knock her senseless.

The bed creaked some, and shifted, and she felt gentle hands rest momentarily on her temples. There was a cool wash of magic, and the headache faded…. and as the hands skimmed over her body, she felt alternating waves of warmth and cold, banishing many of the aches and pains she'd come to recognize as part of her daily life.

She lifted her head, and found herself nearly nose to nose with Anders. He bore a look of deep concentration, and he winced as his hand skimmed her back.

"Anders?"

"_Andraste's knickerweasels_," he breathed, "what have you _done_ to yourself?"

Solona couldn't quite meet his eyes. "Oh, you know. Shaken like a mabari's chew toy by dragons, impaled on swords, raked by demon claws… the usual…."

He got up, and headed for the door. Solona was surprised when in addition to hearing it shut quietly, she heard the rasp of the bolt being drawn across. She looked up, startled, to see him settling beside her again, something very serious in his expression.

"Let me see," he said quietly.

Solona's face burned. "It's ok… you don't have to…"

"No," he said quietly, "I don't have to."

_Maker, what am I doing_… Solona thought. "Anders… Zevran…"

He winced a little. "Is this where you tell me you have a…. past together?"

She shook her head. "No, not like that."

"Just friends."

"Just friends, with a LOT of innuendo."

"Really. Can't say I noticed. Innuendo, you say." A ghost of a smile flickered briefly across his face, but then he got serious. "Do be kind enough to let me know if that changes. We're all adults here and it would be best if we are all on the same page." He looked at her carefully. "Should I go?"

"No." She shook her head. "No, really. I know it looked bad… but he is a decent masseuse and really was only trying to help."

Anders nodded. "Ok." He tugged on her shirt. "Now, off with that."

"I… what?"

He gave her a very no-nonsense look. "Hello, healer here, and you're in pain. Get the shirt off so I can get a better idea of what can be done, if anything, to relieve that pain."

_Oh no_, Solona groaned inwardly. When they'd been teens he'd seen every inch of her bare, all smooth ivory skin, soft and silky. After the past two years on the road, getting mauled by everything under the sun, she knew her body was ugly, battered inside and out.

He just waited, and Solona got the uncomfortable feeling that she'd been naughty and was being called on the carpet by the First Enchanter. Irving had given her that same patient "I'm waiting" look as well until she'd given in and done as she was bidden.

Solona sighed, and pulled off the shirt. She closed her eyes and turned away.

She felt a finger gently tracing the huge white semi-circle on the left side of her rib cage, where the high dragon the cultists thought was Andraste had picked her up and worried her like a wolf with a deer haunch. And then the shoulder, with the thick pink shiny-smooth ripples, where she'd been horribly burned and healed. The small white scars, in shoulder, neck and chest, where darkspawn arrows had felled her in the Tower of Ishal. She found herself quietly telling him the story of each disfigurement, her body a map of her adventures, cringing away from the gentleness of his touch.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked softly, caressing the side of her face.

"No. I know it's not… pleasant… to look at." _Especially since you saw the blank canvas._

Anders leaned over and kissed her burned shoulder. "It's part of you," he said quietly, "and you're beautiful."

Solona blinked at him, struggling for composure. With all her scars?

"Shhhhh," he said softly, running his hands gently but surely over her. There were some initial pains that stole her breath as badly healed injuries were made to tear themselves apart and reknit. And then, she slumped against Anders' shoulder to catch her breath.

"Lie down," he murmured, his hands still glowing a brilliant healing blue-white.

* * *

Much, much later, as Solona drifted off to sleep, her head pillowed against Anders' shoulder, it occurred to her that there were all _kinds_ of healing magic.


	22. Perspectives

Anders nodded. "Ok." He tugged on her shirt. "Now, off with that."

"I… what?"

He gave her a very no-nonsense look. "Hello, healer here, and you're in pain. Get the shirt off so I can get a better idea of what can be done, if anything, to relieve that pain."

Solona sighed, and pulled off the shirt. She closed her eyes and turned away.

_Maker's Breath_, Anders thought, his chest tightening in a peculiarly painful manner as Solona fidgeted and looked away from him as he sat beside her on her featherbed. There were two thoughts following one on the heels of the other, and both made him feel breathless and cold.

The first thought that smashed through his head as she sat there, still wearing her breeches but bare above the waist but for her breastband, was '_how_ _in the world did she __**survive**__ all that?_' She may have made it a joke but he saw the faint white semi-circular bite pattern on her left side and realized, _Shit. She actually __**was**__ treated like a dragon chew toy._ And he could see ragged claw-marks, and stab wounds as well. _Mages are NOT supposed to get up close and personal_, he thought angrily. _That's what __**warriors**__ are for: meat shields._

The second thought, which made him feel deeply tender and somewhat confused was, '_how can she __**possibly**__ think she is not beautiful_?' And right behind that one, _ah. Being dumped by your __**One True Love**__ - whatever that's supposed to be - might put paid to one's self-esteem._

His fingers lightly skimmed over the huge bite mark, and as they went, he pushed a little healing magic along her skin. He could feel the cracked ribs, imperfectly healed through use of poultices, and pressed his magic into them, forcing them to find their proper position again. Solona gasped and fell against him, clinging to him until her breathing eased. He knew that at this late date, he could not erase the effects of her wounds completely - but some could still be lessened.

"Where did you get that?" he whispered into her hair, stroking her sides, letting his magic feel where things were wrong.

"High dragon…. near Andraste's temple." Her voice was soft, unsure. "It had laid Alistair flat out, and Wynne had been knocked cold… Leliana was shooting arrows but it wasn't enough, and it was reaching down to chomp Alistair…"

He could see it all too clearly - Templar boy pushed up to one elbow, dizzy, trying to get his feet - snarling dragon… and Solona, new to this armor thing and sword thing, throwing herself between the dragon's teeth to protect him.

"Killed it though," she said quietly. "It tossed me and I landed on its head, couldn't believe the luck. Rammed my sword into it brain." She winced. "I was lucky I had healing poultices. _Lots_ of them." A shadow crossed her features. "If I never see another thrice-damned dragon again, it will be much too soon."

His fingers traced some short scars on her shoulder, and one centered in her chest. He ran his fingers across and felt the place where the arrow had chipped her breastbone. "You were lucky, here," he whispered, bending down to kiss the white line. "This one might have killed you."

"It may well have. Flemeth might have dragged me back from the Fade by the hair, for all I know."

"Flemeth. THE Flemeth?" He tipped a finger under her chin, and looked her in the eyes.

She wasn't kidding. "If you ever meet her, _promise me _you won't be an arse in front of her," she said with a shudder.

"Didn't you say you killed her for your friend, Morrigan?"

"Powerful old bitch like that? Too mean to die. I'm convinced she'll turn up again, the proverbial bad copper."

His fingers skimmed her shoulder - a pink, twisted, almost rippled mess of flesh. "This?"

"Acid flasks. Got ambushed." She shuddered at the remembered pain of her skin burning and melting.

Anders lowered his head, and nibbled kisses along the glossy flesh. She quivered under his touch, and he stopped, caressing her cheek. "Am I hurting you?" he whispered.

"No," She closed her eyes. "But I know how ugly it is… I am."

Anders leaned forward, brushed the lightest of kisses against her lips. "Brave… smart… beautiful…" he murmured against her mouth, and then his fingers glided over her back, cataloging the hurts there as well. "Gorgeous," he breathed, leaning over to kiss some ragged, parallel white scars across her breast.

She breathed in suddenly, pressing herself into his arms, her heart thumping painfully.

"Lie back," he urged quietly, stroking her soft stomach as if she were a kitten, lowering her to the featherbed. "Let me see them all…."

Anders pulled off her boots and put them beside the bed, then nibbled kisses across the place on her belly where Loghain had nearly eviscerated her, and murmured as he soothed her, assuring her it was fine.

She buried her face in his shoulder, holding him close, and then tilting her head back and kissing his lips hungrily. She broke away only to fix her wide blue eyes on his warn brown ones - a brief look of nervousness and worry.

"It's hardly fair," she said softly. "You've still got your robes on."

"Then help me with that," he murmured.

Solona reached up, looking into his eyes, and fumbled a little with the fastenings of his robe. She gave him an uncertain smile as he remembered the last time they had fumbled each other out of their clothing. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, then helped her shrug his robes off.

She studied his chest, his arms - how lean and muscular he was from a life on the run. He too had some battlescars, though nothing near to what was emblazoned on her skin. Anders felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle to attention as she nibbled kisses down the side of his throat. He groaned and kissed her back, and with a questioning look, he tugged at the waistband of her breeches.

Solona nodded, and he unlaced her breeches one handed, then slid them off her as she arched up into him. She needed both her hands to free his, and it took both of them to slide off his boots and his breeches.

Anders lay beside Solona, skin to skin, and kissed her again.

"Beautiful," he said softly, brushing her auburn hair out of her eyes. "Never doubt it."

She smiled then, a little sadly and uncertainly, and he felt a tug at the back of his head as she pulled out his hair tie. His hair fell free around his face, and she ran her fingers through it gently, before her fingers found _far_ more interesting places to be.

* * *

After, he had brushed her sweat-dampened hair off her forehead and kissed her there, salty-sweet. Many of the wrinkles and worry lines around her eyes and forehead had smoothed out now as she stroked his back, a tentative smile playing at her lips.

"Lona," he murmured into her collarbone, "Should I go?" She was still the commander, and he knew how worried she'd been about propriety.

She pulled the blanket over both their cooling frames, and snuggled down into his arms.

"Please stay." And in those words, Anders felt, for the first time in a very, very long time, that he was where he wanted to be.


	23. LOVE THE LADY!

***scritch scritch scritch scritch scritch***

***scritch scritch scritch scritch scritch***

***sniff sniff sniff***

_Sit outside door. Good dog. Guard door. Not open door._

_Why not open door?_

***sniff sniff sniff sneeze***

_**Mating**._

_Nose tickles when smell the lady. Nose tickles when smell tall thin man. Maybe happy this time? Maybe nose-tickles good together? _

_Nose-tickle lady not good with metal man. First lady happy. Metal man happy. Happy happy happy. Mean tickle-nose lady __**not**__ happy._

_Lady cry. Metal man cry. Everyone sad. Everyone but mean tickle-nose lady sad. Mean tickle-nose lady laughs at metal man. Then metal man angry. Bark bark bark at mean tickle-nose lady._

_Want to bite mean tickle-nose lady, but scared. Mean lady **MEAN**._

***sniff sniff sniff***

_**Still** mating. Tickle-noses mating. Barkly outside. Barkly good dog._

_Hungry?_

_Maybe short loud man feed. Like short loud man. Short loud man not make Lady cry. Downstairs. Downstairs is food._

_Tall dark man come. Broody broody man. First angry with Lady. Now angry at world. Not angry with lady. _

_**No**, broody man. Lady mating. You come. I get wrist. You come **now**._

_Sorry for mans. Sorry sorry sorry. Bad hearing. Bad noses. Cannot smell mating._

_Oh._

_Maybe hearing **not** so bad._

***sniff***

_Smell surprise. Why surprise? Nose-tickles good together._

"Left out in the cold, boy?" _Oh, scratches! Scratching ears. Love broody man. Patting side. **LOVE** broody man. Feed Barkly? Feed good dog?_

_Broody man coming. Let go of wrist. Play after food? Play? Play?_

_Broody man feeds me.** LOVE BROODY MAN**. Broody man best in world…. except lady._

**_OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE OUTSIDE OUTSIDE YAY!_**

***run run run run run***

**_OUTSIDE! OUTSIDE OUTSIDE OUTSIDE!_**

***sniff!***

_What that? What that? Play? Play play **play**?_

**HISSSSSS!**

_Ouch! hurts! Too small. **Bad** hurt small things. Bad bad bad._

_Barkly **GOOD** boy._

_Barkly bring good thing. Barkly bring **SNACK**._

_Little fuzzy thing eats. Little fuzzy thing makes funny sound. Sounds like growling, but not angry. **Silly** little fuzzy thing!_

_Shadow overhead. Big bird! Big mean bird! Barkly GOOD DOG. Barkly protect!_

***BARK BARK BARK BARK BARK! BARK BARK BARK!***

_Mean bird mad. Barkly stand over little fuzzy thing. Mean bird NOT get fuzzy thing!_

_Mean bird swoops. Swooping is **BAD**. _

_**Feathers**__ are bad. _***gag gag gag***

_Little fuzzy thing scared. Big mean bird gone now. Big mean bird come back?_

_Barkly protect! Barkly bring fuzzy thing inside! BIRD NOT COME INSIDE!_

***scritch scritch scritch scritch scritch***

***scritch scritch scritch scritch scritch***

_Barkly good dog. Varel good man. Varel opens door. Varel tries to see what Barkly has. Barkly go upstairs! UP UP UP UP!_

_There is door! Lady's door! No more mating…. Barkly wants in!_

***WHIIIIIIIIINE! WHIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINE! scritch scritch scritch scritch scritch***

"Oh, Andraste's _knicker weasels_!" _Tall thin man sounds mad. _

"He'll keep that up all day if you don't let him in, I'm afraid." _But lady thinks it funny! Funny lady! Love lady!_

_Tall tickle-nose opening door! **TALL TICKLENOSE THE BEST! I LOVE TALL TICKLENOSE! **(except Lady)._

* * *

The moment Anders opened the door, Barkly shot in the room, his tail wagging so hard the whole dog seemed to vibrate. He jumped onto the bed, practically trampling Solona, who chuckled and tried to push him aside.

"No, no no no, I am NOT sharing the bed with you, dog!" Anders said, shutting the door.

Barkly whined, then stood at the edge of the bed as Anders came back. He stuck his nose in Anders' hands and opened his mouth.

"What the…."

A tiny orange tabby kitten sat in Anders' hands. It looked up with big, sad green eyes and miaowed pitifully.

Anders looked at Barkly.

Barkly wagged his tail hard, and ran his tongue out in a big doggy smile, then nudged the kitten with his nose.

Anders smiled, and tickled the kitten under the chin. "Aren't you a cute little kitty…. yes you are!"

Barkly turned to Solona, wagging his tail less certainly, cocking his head and whining.

"Yes, you beast," she said, scritching him behind the ears, "you and Anders can keep the kitten."

_LOVE THE LADY!_


	24. Take an Ad Out, Denerim Doesn't Know Yet

"You know," Anders murmured into Solona's ear, snuggled up beside her in her featherbed, "I could get used to this." He smiled, his arm tightening around her slightly as she pillowed her head on his shoulder, curled beside him. "All I've ever wanted was a decent meal, a pretty girl, and the right to shoot lightning at fools."

_Maker above,_ Solona thought in surprise, _he's a cuddler._ _He's not the __**only**__ one who could get used to this!_ With the exception of their very first one, their trysts in the Circle had been frantic, furtive things – a race to find a secluded corner where they would not be disturbed, lift robes, get it done, and part company as quickly as possible to avoid detection. It was all very good for the simple physical gratification, but in terms of intimacy… not so much. This was uncharted territory and idly she wondered: was there more? _Were_ she, Anders, and Zevran wrong concerning physical intimacy?

She'd believed in love with Alistair… and had had her heart broken when, for the good of Ferelden, love was _not enough_. Mages were not allowed to marry each other, either – and in any case, Anders was even less likely than she to let himself be collared and corralled – but maybe… _maybe_?

She hugged him back, eyes drifting to half-mast with sleepy satiation, and murmured, "Well, two out of three isn't bad."

"You mean I _still_ can't shoot lightning at fools? Pity."

She felt her face start to burn then, suddenly shy. She thought about the scars crisscrossing her body, the acid burns rippling over her shoulder that had miraculously missed her face.

_I killed the Archdemon. I put two kings on their thrones. I killed two high dragons. I cured werewolves. I found Andraste's ashes. And yet I feel so… scared. Inadequate._

Anders looked down at her, tightening his grip for a moment, and reached over with his free hand to brush the hair back behind her ears. "_Never_ doubt it," he whispered.

They had just started to doze off, their perspiration cooling them until they dragged the counterpane over their tangled bodies, when there was a scratching at the door and ungodly amount of whining.

"I hate that dog," Anders groaned.

"You do not," she retorted. "You're glad enough when he hamstrings ogres."

"Well, ok, he's fine as a fellow Grey Warden, but he's going to come in here, jump on the bed and squeeze between us. And he smells. And he's gassy. He's Oghren on four legs, really, and I want you all to myself for now… is that so much to ask?"

She giggled and smiled into his chest. "No, it's not so much to ask."

The whining outside got more insistent, and the scratching started to shake the door. "He'll dig right through it, though, if we don't let him in."

"Fine!" Anders threw back the counterpane, grabbed her robe, and threw it on. It was rather short on him, but covered up everything that modesty demanded (barely). Solona shivered as the cold air hit her and pulled the cover over again, snuggling down into the pool of warmth he'd left behind.

He stalked to the door while Solona smiled and took in his lanky legs, enjoying the rear view. When he opened it, sure enough, Barkly launched himself onto the bed and was trampling Solona in puppy excitement to see her. Oddly, he wasn't barking, and she glimpsed a ragged scrap of orange in his mouth.

"No, no no no, we are NOT sharing the bed with you, you hell-beast!" Anders said, shutting the door again and coming to the bed, trying to collar the Mabari. "No!"

Solona giggled, sitting up with the counterpane tucked under her arms. "Barkly, down."

The dog was wagging his tail so hard his whole body was shaking. He shoved his nose into Anders' hands and suddenly, Anders yelped as a small, wet, squirming _thing_ was deposited in his hands.

He looked down and there was a tiny, orange tabby looking up at him. "Miaow?"

Anders looked at the dog, then at the kitten, then at Solona.

Barkly looked up at Anders, whined, licked the kitten, then nudged it with his nose, wagging his tail.

Anders looked at Barkly, scratching him behind his ears thoughtfully. "Is… is this for me?"

The mabari barked decisively.

Anders tickled the kitten under its chin and was rewarded with a purr. He looked over at Solona hopefully.

Solona already had the mabari in her face, head cocked and whining, then looking at the kitten, then looking back. He put his paw on her shoulder, and licked her, then looked back at Anders and the kitten. Amusingly enough, both the mage and the mabari had the same questioning look in their eyes.

"You," she said to Anders, "do _not_ need to lick my face to ask about this. As for the kitten," she grinned, "yes, you both can keep it."

Anders sat on the bed beside Solona and the mabari, petting the tiny little scrap of slobbered on feline, then looked at Barkly. "You know…" he allowed grudginglyl, "for a canine, you're not so bad."

Barkly sneezed and licked Anders' ear.

* * *

It didn't take long, Solona noted.

She came downstairs later, on her way through the throne room to check on some drake scale armor she had Wade working on for her new recruits. Solona was freshly bathed and in her mage robes, her hair caught in a simple pony tail, and Barkley at her heels. Oghren had chuckled.

When Ohgren chuckled, it was usually related to bodily functions, drink, or sex. Solona had a sinking feeling she knew which of the three it was. When he got up and started to follow her, she _knew_ which one it was.

"So… gotcher mojo back?" he asked.

Solona intentionally misunderstood. Maybe playing dumb would dissuade him. It was a faint hope, but a hope nonetheless. "My mojo…. Well, I guess I never lost it… no templars to smite me, no overextension of spell-casting…."

"Aw, come on now, boss, we both know that's not what I meant – though Ancestors know it's been a nug's age since you were _smited_ good and proper…." Oghren leered.

"We are _so_ not having this conversation," she tossed over her shoulder.

"Seriously, boss – glad you're knockin' boots again."

"Oghren, if you don't want your privileges to the ale cut off, drop the subject. _Now_."

* * *

Sigrun, the ever-cheerful Legion of the Dead scout, came jogging down the hall from the opposite direction. "Hey commander, congrats on riding the midnight bronto! And thanks – Oghren put you down for last week, I got you for this one, and Nate refused to bet at all. I figured then he musta known something we didn't, but he just kinda sneered and said he'd have thought we had better things to do with our time than bet on something so sordid."

Solona closed her eyes. "I would have to agree with him."

"Zevran had you down for next week…."

Solona started to sing, loudly. "La la la la la, NOT LISTENING!"

* * *

It was after she got downstairs and was passing the kitchen that Nathaniel made an appearance.

"Commander... you might consider making sure your hound is occupied while you're... occupied. It draws rather a lot of attention for him to be sprawled in front of your door sniffing and whining to get in."

"Yes... thank you, Nathaniel... let me just nip off and die..."

* * *

Zevran caught her as she got to Wade's forge. "My dear Grey Warden..."

"_Yes_, _fine_, _ok_, I'm sorry I lost your bet for you, I'm _done_ with this, all right?! Let me check on how the recruits' armor is coming along, then I'm going to go change and beat the everloving shit out a practice dummy! Thanks, we'll talk later!"

_What_, Zevran wondered, _was THAT all about?_


	25. Long Term Contract

"Commander," Seneschal Varel said, as she stepped off the practice field, with Zevran, wiping her forehead with a towel. "Lord Casterly is here to see you. He claims it is most urgent."

Solona nodded. "Show him into my office – if it's just he, I think we can dispense with the 'standing about in drafty throne rooms' bit and get on to the 'what can I do for a lord who's sworn fealty to me' bit. "

"Would my lady perhaps like to, ah, change?" Varel asked delicately.

Solona shook her head. "If Lord Casterly came to the keep this morning, then he walked right past us out on the field. I'm certain that if this is very important, he won't mind the armor and perspiration – and if it is NOT important, he'd do well to remember I am skilled in the arts of war."

"But perhaps," Zevran said smoothly, "a basin to wash the dust of the compound off hands and face would not be amiss, no?"

Solona nodded. "Done. A basin of warm water and towel, in my office. Casterly to be shown in a couple of minutes after the basin arrives. Let's show him this arlessa is not afraid to work."

* * *

"Lord Casterly, my lady."

Solona turned from the washbasin, drying her face and hands on the towel she had draped over her shoulders. Zevran had gone back to shepherd her mage recruits back to the bathing facilities; her second in command, Nathaniel Howe, leaned against the wall by the arched window, arms crossed against his chest, looking like a thundercloud.

Solona had to give him credit: the man could be intimidating.

Solona extended a hand to Casterly, giving him a firm handshake – one of the quirks she had. She thought she saw Nathaniel's nostrils twitch a moment – well, so be it. She would rather give the impression of someone more suited to a hands-on warrior position than to expect people to bow and scrape to her. "Lord Casterly. To what do we owe the pleasure?"

"My lady…. There has been an attack on my lands." She noticed that his hand had been slightly clammy and that his pupils were slightly wider than normal. This was a man who was frightened. She gestured that he should sit, and poured him a mug of wine to steady him.

After he'd sipped, he told the tale. "Several of the farms that your predecessor placed under my protection were overrun with darkspawn this morning, my lady. They struck fast, and did not kill as many as we expected…."

"However…?" Solona urged gently.

"They carried off some dozen of my vassals, my lady… all of them women or girls of marriageable age."

Solona's stomach twisted. "Only women and girls…. You're certain of this."

"Yes, my lady." Casterly's face seemed to sink in on itself as he glanced at Nathaniel, then back at her, then went on in a rush, "One of the missing girls… my natural-born daughter, Alyssa. Please, my lady, she is my only joy."

Solona was surprised that he claimed the bastard – it was all too few of the nobility, in her experience, who would. That she was his only joy she was certain – she'd seen the battleaxe he had married and the strutting popinjay sons Lady Casterly had presented him.

"In what direction were they seen to go," she asked.

"West, my lady, toward the Knotwood Hills."

Solona nodded at Nathaniel, who pushed off from the wall and left the room to round up Zev, Oghren, Sigrun and Anders. She waited until he had left, then put her hand on Casterly's shoulder.

"They are in very grave danger, I will not lie to you," she said. "I promise you, if it is within my power, I will bring back your daughter and these others. If not…"

She squeezed his shoulder.

"If not I swear that they will be avenged."

* * *

"So, back to Kal'Hirol?" Sigrun asked as Solona entered the cozy room off the kitchen that they used as informal dining room and war room. Barkly padded in after her, with Anders' kitten – whose name, Ser Pounce-a-lot, was twice as big as its owner – perched on the mabari's broad shoulders.

"Yes." Solona looked as if she'd aged a decade in the last half hour. "This is likely to be bad."

Nathaniel nodded. "A dozen women and girls kidnapped by darkspawn. We're to rescue them."

"Do darkspawn even take hostages?" Anders asked, surprised. Oghren swore, and kicked the wall.

"They don't." Solona said. "Sigrun, you'll remember that when we met you, we freed you from being dragged off by that big, nasty Hurlock?"

"Not likely to forget it. " Sigrun chirped. "That arcane blast of yours surprised him just enough to let me roll free and get my axe up into his kidneys."

Solona nodded. "If we had not been able to get you free of him, Sigrun, I'd have fireballed you both."

If the Legion of the Dead scout was surprised, she didn't show it. "Well, that would have been a warm welcome!"

"What? Why?" Anders cut in.

"Because the sodding darkspawn kidnap women for only one reason, Sparklefingers!" Oghren yelled. "You ever wonder why we never seen _women darkspawn?"_

"Who could tell under all that ugly?" Anders retorted.

"_Children_." Solona said sharply. They all stopped and turned toward her. _Andraste's flaming arse, I think I'm the youngest one in the room_, she thought in bleak surprise, looking at the various looks of surprise, sulking or, in Nathaniel's case, a hint of respect.

"Darkspawn force-feed females tainted flesh," she said quietly. "Then they are transformed into broodmothers and produce hundreds of darkspawn. It's why I'd have killed you rather than let you be taken, Sigrun." She shuddered. "As Wardens, we're immune to taint now, but anyone else…"

"_Ancestors_…." Sigrun muttered.

Anders glanced at Solona. "So this might not actually be a _rescue_."

Solona shook her head. "If those women and girls are tainted..."

Anders turned his back, staring out the window.

She looked at Nathaniel, who nodded slightly to her.

She wanted to say, _I don't like the idea any better than you do. _ Or, _I understand, the idea makes me sick, too_. But what she said was, "If they're tainted, we have to put them to the sword. For expediency's sake, yes, but it's a mercy too. I know I'd rather have my throat slit than be… _that_."

Anders swore fluently under his breath.

"Pack up," she told them. "Sooner we go, the better for those girls."

"My dear Grey Warden," Zevran said quietly. "I would like to offer my skills to you there, below the ground."

Solona shook her head. "No, Zev, though I appreciate the offer. We've been in Kal'Hirol before, and it's thick with taint." She caressed his cheek, and leaned her forehead against his affectionately. "It would be death for you were you infected since we both know your limits with exchanging bodily fluids." She tried a wry smile; felt it was a grimace. "I need you here, training our magelings in knife-fighting in case…." She couldn't finish the thought.

"One of these days, dear heart, you're going to go down into a hole in the ground and never come back," he said softly, kissing her on her forehead.

"One of these days we're _all_ going to go down into a hole in the ground and never come back," she replied, nodding to the Wardens who were getting up to gather their gear.

"Solona…." Zevran said, clearly worried.

"Zev." She smiled sadly, and said softly, so softly that Anders couldn't hear. "Train my magelings well. And if, in the end, you're there when I'm to head out to my Calling… do me a favor…."

"If I still live, my dear, anything."

She fixed him with a very serious look.

He sighed. "It's like that, is it?"

She nodded. "It's like that."

He nodded. "Thirty years…. That is _rather_ a long-term contract."

"I'll only hire the best," she said. "What would your terms be?"

He glanced at Anders as the mage picked up the kitten from Barkly's shoulder and tucked him into a pocket of his robe. The mage took a knee and rubbed the dog's ears with a far-off, distracted look, and spoke softly to the mabari, who responded by solemnly putting a paw on his shoulder and nuzzling his ear. "Perhaps we can discuss that at a later date," Zevran said quietly.

* * *

"Have I mentioned today…"

"…how much you hate the blighted Deep Roads? How you would die a happy man if you never had to even THINK about the Deep Roads again?" Solona finished for Anders as they stood, back to back, weaving a tapestry of spells…. Solona's all flame and force and destruction, Anders' healing and protection for the rest of the party. They switched positions with a quick sidestep to the right that let her pound back some of the horde pressing Sigrun and Oghren and Anders heal and rejuvenate a flagging Howe.

"So…. Close in conversation with Zevran earlier…."

"Can we discuss this later, Anders?" she asked. "_Please?_" She leaned in quick and kissed him hard.

He flashed her a fleeting smile. "I'll hold you to it."

* * *

The chamber in which they found the girls was a chamber of horrors. Two of the girls were already dead, their faces grey and their veins distended and black. Three more were vomiting and when they drew close to them, Anders winced. The taint was singing its horrible symphony in their veins, and their skin was taking on a faintly ashen undertone.

"Let me try," he said, in a low, urgent voice, and Solona did. She didn't have the heart to tell him what they all knew, and she knew that he would never be able to accept that this was beyond his powers to heal without experiencing it. When he looked up at her, horrified, shaking his head, she motioned him to go take care of their other charges.

It was Solona herself who put them under a sleep spell and did what was necessary, wiping her dagger carefully before resheathing it. She gathered the five together and used the firestorm spell to incinerate them so they would not further defiled in death.

Seven girls were physically untouched. Their emotional well-being Solona could not speak for. She, Sigrun and Barkly formed a triangle around them, the men forming an outer triangle with Howe on point and Oghren and Anders bringing up the rear. It was a miserable and exhausting trudge home, and she didn't stop to alert Casterly that they had returned after dark. She had some of the female maids draw baths, and had the girls bunk in the second of the dorms with Sigrun.

One of the survivors had been Alyssa. At least she could return her to her father safely, and she thanked the Maker for small favors.. She did not look forward to telling the other parents that their children would not be coming home.

"It is my responsibility, Arlessa," Casterly had said the next morning, tears of joy standing in his eyes, holding his daughter as if she were five and not twelve. "They are my people."

"Thank you," she said quietly. All she wanted to do was curl up in her bed and sleep for a week or six.

"My lady," Casterly said, his voice breaking, "thank _you_. When the time comes, depend upon my support."

* * *

Anders slipped into Solona's room, to find her seated at the window, looking out blindly. He came up behind her quietly and placed both hands on her shoulders. She turned into him with a strangled sound, and hugged him hard as he sat beside her.

"That was fairly horrible," he murmured, rubbing her back and kissing the top of her head.

"Have I told you how much I hate the blighted Deep Roads?" she asked raggedly.

"You might have mentioned." He held her while she trembled in his arms, and was surprised when she took a deep breath and said, "About Zevran."

Anders stilled, and waited. He hadn't expected her to be this open with him.

"I took out a contract. On myself." She raised a hand to forestall his argument and instead he made a sort of strangled sound. "I will NOT end up a brood mother. I will NOT end up a ghoul in the end. I will NOT."

"'Lona…."

"Anders," she said quietly, "No. "

"So… what? You asked a man who genuinely cares about you to end your life?"

Solona closed her eyes.

"You may not want to hear it, sweetheart, but Zevran would cheerfully throw himself into death's jaws for you – despite all the flirtation, he _cares_ for you on a level of which you either are not aware. or of which you are taking ruthless advantage, and I am not sure which is worse." Anders shook her, looked into her startled blue eyes. "_Listen to me._ I've flirted with you the same way he does, and I'm sure he cares for you - maybe more than he himself is willing to admit. Whether you intended it or not, you've shown him you consider him second best _twice_; to ask him to be the tool that ends you is beyond cruel." He looked searchingly at her, his brown eyes filled with worry. "You cannot do that to him, love… you _must_ not ask it."

"All right, Anders." She looked very small and tired. Defeated. "I don't suppose you're offering to take his place…."

Anders smiled grimly. "What makes you think I won't be right there beside you? We'll make quite the little war party – the Hero of Ferelden, Commander of the Grey, your ex-templar royal ex-boyfriend, your apostate mage, a drunken dwarf, a pre-killed dwarf, and a scout-assassin."

"Won't _that_ go over well in the history books."

"Really, sweetheart! You know they'll clean it up for the school kids."


	26. Rumor Mill

Solona Amell really and truly _hated_ these things.

It was the anniversary of the day she'd slain the archdemon on top of Fort Drakon, and she and her Grey Wardens were recalled to Denerim for the celebration. There would be parties, and dressing up, and ceremonies.

And, she had been forewarned, there might well be an engagement announcement as well. Alistair's.

The thought of all of it made her stomach queasy. She couldn't claim that she had not begun to move on, but the hurt of being rejected simply for what she _was_ still hurt. And although clearly they were no longer lovers and could no longer afford to be, Alistair had been her first true love and her first true _friend_ outside of the Circle. That he was nearly a Templar was an irony that escaped neither of them, but the truth was that when all was said and done, no matter how they'd had to move on – he was part of the family Solona had chosen for herself after her blood relatives had been ripped away from her six year old self, forever.

This woman, (a Nevarran, as she'd suggested to him might be politic) would be at the festivities.

The recruits would stay with Varel and the Captain of the Guard to continue training.

* * *

Oghren mercifully had little to say when she'd told her little warband that they were going. He'd come by her office with a couple of pints of ale, and the two of them had had a quiet drink together. They'd talked about how the training of a new crop of human recruits was going, discussed timing the Joining for just after they got back.

As he'd gotten up to leave, he'd walked over to her chair, reached up, and squeezed her shoulder. "You're worth more than alla the noblewomen in Thedas," he grumbled, then stood on tiptoe and kissed her cheek before he took his leave.

It had left Solona weeping quietly, her heart surging with a touch of grief over what could have been – but mostly from a renewed realization of how much her companions cared for her and were the next thing to family to her. _Maker, I _am_ a lucky woman_.

* * *

Sigrun's reaction, as ever, was to the point. "Anyone needs killing, point me at them." It was hard to take seriously with a cheeky ear to ear grin – but Solona knew better than to think it was simply a joke.

* * *

Nathaniel had sat with her late into the night, working out the logistics of getting them all to the capital, and had simply said quietly, "I doubt this trip will be comfortable for either of us."

"No, I should say not." After the Landsmeet, it had been common knowledge that she and Alistair were a couple; she'd heard rather nastier rumors that painted her either as his whore, or more infamously as the _camp_ whore, fueled by the not-entirely-undeserved rumors about mages being a rather promiscuous bunch. She was _not_ looking forward to the gossip.

Howe had as little reason to look forward to this as she – perhaps less. His father had been the rather abusive Arl of Denerim – a traitor and torturer and murderer – and there was sure to be a lot of gossip about how far he'd fallen.

"We'll make it through," she'd said, and Howe had given her a look heavy with humor. "No frogs, Commander," he warned.

* * *

The one she was both most and least surprised about was Anders. She'd found him pacing in the dungeon, of all places, Barkly whining at his heels.

"An apostate mage, in the palace, at Denerim….."

"A Grey Warden," she'd said calmly, "a freed mage of the Circle, with the Hero of Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine, and Commander of the Grey. Besides…. I have it on EXCELLENT authority that your phylactery no longer exists." She'd smiled wolfishly at that.

Anders stopped and looked at her. "Do I need to remind you that this is your ex-_Templar_ ex-_boyfriend_ **King** we're going to see?"

Solona chuckled humorlessly. "No, I think I remembered that."

"What if he _finds out_ about us? What if he doesn't _approve_ of me?"

Solona shrugged. "What if he _does_ find out? What if he _doesn't_ approve? What does it matter?"

He goggled. "He IS the king."

"He also personally handed me your phylactery," Solona said quietly. She hugged him hard while he digested this. "Do you honestly believe he would have freed _you_, _specifically_, if he had it in for you?"

Anders kissed her temple. "So, best robes, then…."

"Wait 'till you see… got some snazzy uniforms for us."

* * *

Zevran was the last to come see her. "I take it, my dear Warden Commander, that I am to stay at the Keep?"

"Where would you get that idea?" Solona asked, surprised. "Zev, you were one of our companions – you were with me on the roof when I killed the archdemon. You're going – unless you don't WANT to go."

"And how will it look, Solona, for you to bring an assassin to the palace?"

"Zev, it's not as if you're going to be wearing a sign saying, 'I am an assassin.' Alistair will know, of course, and our friends. Who else?" She looked at him searchingly. "Really… you were with me when it counted – you've always had my back, and I hope you know I've always had yours. I can't imagine being at the celebration without you."

He smiled, a little sadly, she thought. "Best of friends, forever. I'd better pack."

* * *

As expected, there was the gossip.

Solona walked into the ballroom as regally as any queen, her Grey Warden robes of silver and blue with a pair of rampant griffons stitched on the front drawing admiring murmurs. Anders swept in beside her in similar style. Oghren, Sigrun, and Howe each had tabards in the same colors over hose, and Zevran had chosen simply to wear a blue outfit.

"The nerve of her coming," Habren Bryland stage whispered as they passed. "You'd think she'd understand that _sleeping with the King_ and _being kept by him_ isn't the same as _being wanted at the palace_…"

Solona swept by as if she had not heard. A muscle in her jaw began to twitch, though.

"Is it really safe to have so many mages here without Templars?" mock whispered another of her set, Lady Darcy.

"Ugh – look at that dwarf woman – is that a _tattoo_ all over her face? How horrifying!"

She walked right up to the dais to King Alistair, and bent her knee before him, not rising until he murmured to her.

_I hate this too_, his expression said.

_We'll get through this_, hers replied, and she nodded slightly.

* * *

Habren Bryland was a poisonous little thing, and Solona had had enough. She had been hearing far too much about _mage promiscuity_, about her supposed relations _with the King and with the Blight Companions_, and about her new Wardens. She was about to walk out of the ballroom when Anders – Maker watch over him! - swept wordlessly past her and over to Habren and her little coterie with a cheerful smile on his face.

_What the…._

"My lady," Anders said warmly, turning up the charm. "You're positively radiant." He took both of her hands, looked at her from arm's length, and gushed, "Let me be the first to congratulate you and your lord husband on the happy news!"

"My lord h– you are mistaken, Ser, " Habren stammered. "I am yet unwed."

Anders' expression showed surprise, then became very grave. "I… forgive me, my lady." And with a courteous bow, he backed away and headed off for the punch bowl as the murmurs started rippling through the hall.

Zevran smirked as he led Solona out to the dance floor. "The icing on that particular cake," he said as he began to lead her through a swift Antivan reel, "would indeed be if there _were_ congratulations in order and no lord waiting in the wings to become a husband."

Solana glanced at Anders, who was now deep in discussion with Wynne. "You don't think…"

"I think it at least fortuitous timing. If he is in jest, then he is a Crow at heart – skilled in _character_ assassination."

She had never learned to dance – the social niceties were rather lacking within the Circle – but Zevran was nimble and warned her of each change of direction with a gentle tightening of his fingers, and Solona was a quick study. Then the dance was over, and she, flushing, curtseyed even as Zev bowed to her.

A slower air began to play, a waltz, and when she turned to leave the floor, she got only a tingle of her tainted blood to warn her that a Warden was standing behind her.

It was Alistair, in his royal armor. "May I have this dance?"

"Do you think it wise, Your Majesty? People will talk."

"People are already talking," he pointed out smoothly, "and would probably have far more to say were it to appear that we were avoiding each other out of guilt."

Solona curtseyed, taking his hand and allowing him to place his other hand on her waist.

"I know you're not used to it," he said, with a touch of amusement, "but _this_ time…. follow _my_ lead."

She laughed aloud, and grinning wryly, replied, "No problem. My compliments to your dancing master – you dance divinely."

It both felt good and saddened Solona to be in Alistair's arms again. She felt as if they were flirting with could-have-beens, a bit. More than a bit.

"So, your Nevarran…"

He winced. "Apparently she heard some rumors about Grey Wardens and their _profligate_ _ways_."

"You should have made sure she heard of Grey Wardens and their _incredible stamina_," she teased gently. "And horsewhip the gossips, of course."

They glided to a stop although the music still played, and Alistair turned. And there at his shoulder was Anders.

"Your Majesty," Anders said, bowing, "may I cut in?"

She could tell from the slight tightening of the lines around his eyes that Alistair would rather not, but with a smile he handed Solona off. "Of course, Ser Mage." As Anders began to step off with her, Alistair arrested him with a hand to the shoulder.

"Take good care of her," he said quietly, before patting him on the shoulder and letting them go.

* * *

"Well, _that_ was fairly horrid," Nathaniel said as they gathered in the royal gardens for their usual "war council". "I'm not sure which was worse – the open hostility of some, or the pretended sympathy of the others."

"Ser Bryland should see to his daughter, and soon," Anders murmured to Solona. "Whether it's to get her a husband or to send her to a maiden aunt in Kirkwall for the duration."

So she actually _was_ expecting. "How _deliciously_ hypocritical of the wench," Solona said. "No wonder she has so much to say about my relationship with you all – she probably can't conceive of being with males and not _being_ with them."

"The problem appears to be that she COULD conceive..." Anders replied dryly.

"At least Alistair had good grub and good drink out," Oghren said cheerfully.

"Well, joy of joys... Zev, Oghren and I are going to have to go make speeches and look pretty tomorrow," Solona said. "I can't wait to get a minute alone with Leliana and Wynne. Really won't seem the same without Sten..."

"And Morrigan," Oghren added.

Solona froze, looking off into the distance, trying to compose herself. Yes, Morrigan too, although with any luck she either had not borne the child or - Maker forbid - it had bee a still birth. Solona had the most horrid feeling that she and Alistair would pay a heavy price for their lives, some day.


	27. The Real Heroes

Solona stood in the wings of the dais, in front of the crowd in the Landsmeet hall, her mouth going dry and her heart pounding with nervousness. So many people, and the room held upsetting memories for her: here, where Loghain had slammed her to the wall, breaking ribs. There, where the tip of his sword had torn through her armor and might have eviscerated her had the armor not held her guts in. There, where she'd finally beaten him to a standstill, and then executed him for Alistair so that the king's first act would not be one of vengeance.

So many _people_.

And her own nobles of Amaranthine had come as well – Eddlebrek, chatting with Teyrn Fergus Cousland who was the last of his family and another victim of Howe's treachery. Bann Esmerelle, chatting with Bann Ceorlic, who had supported Loghain – typical. Lord Guy and Lady Liza speaking with Arl Wuftstanna.

"Solana, how lovely to see you again. And…. That cannot _possibly_ be Anders standing behind you, can it?"

Solona turned, smiling brightly for the first time in a long time. "Wynne," she said, and hugged the older mage. "It's great to see you again and yes, that _is_ Anders."

Wynne nearly did a double take, on seeing Anders' new robes. "Do you mean to tell me that Anders is now a Grey Warden?"

Solona gave a wicked, wicked grin. "Annnnnd that will keep him out of the Circle for good."

Wynne's eyes widened for a moment, then she nodded. "Very clever. I'm certain Greagoir will be vehemently displeased by that."

"I'm certain," Solona said cheerfully. "I consider that a bonus."

Wynne tried hard to look disapproving, but instead commented, "He looks remarkably happy." She took a close look at Solona. "Except for understandable stage fright, you look quite happy as well." That led to a long, considering look, one that Solona did not want to encourage.

"Have you seen Leliana," Solona said to distract Wynne. "I know she'd have suggestions for snazzing up these uniforms…"

* * *

The moment of truth.

Solona stepped out onto the balcony, and cleared her throat. "People of Ferelden… last year at this time, it felt as if the world were ending… there were darkspawn overrunning the Bannorn – even Denerim was not spared… and there, on top of Fort Drakon, is where the archdemon fell."

The crowd started to cheer, and the chant of WARDEN! WARDEN! WARDEN! Started.

Solona raised a hand and waited for the chaos to die down. In that moment, she felt a hand steal into hers, and the friendly squeeze reassured her.

"Thank you, you really are too kind," she said to the crowd, "but the truth is I didn't do it all alone." She smiled and indicated Alistair on the dais. "The King supported me from the moment I became a Warden. Without his expertise and support, the defense of Ferelden would have died a stillbirth.

"We had quite the little circle of mages traveling with us… Senior Enchanter Wynne, myself, and a third, wilder companion who is no longer with us. Without my two sisters, I'm not certain we'd have made much headway against the horde.

"And then we had our scouts. My dear friends Leliana and Zevran kept us all safe." Best not to mention the wholesale looting we did….

"We had mighty warriors three – a Qunari named Sten, your king, and my friend here Oghren. They put themselves in the way of flying metal and teeth countless times.

And of course, none of this would have been possible without the Dalish Elves, the Mages and Templars of the Ferelden Circle, and the Dwarves – staunch allies all, whom we owe a VERY great debt. But even they would not be precisely the ones responsible for defeating the archdemon…

"It was countless Fereldens – who lost their lives to darkspawn. Who risked all to aid strangers accused of all kinds of horrid crimes. Who defended the Hero of Ferelden's back when she had only forward as an option. It is a humbling thing to be shown up every day by folks with far fewer advantages than I had, but a necessary lesson.

"So let us make sure we cheer the TRUE champions here: Fereldens! For! Ferelden!"

The crowd roared. "FERELDENS FOR FERELDEN! FERELDENS FOR FERELDEN! FERELDENS FOR FERELDEN!"

Solona faded back, and looked over her shoulder with a smile, expecting it to be Anders who'd held her hand through Solona's nightmare of public speaking.

It wasn't Anders.


	28. No Rest for the Weary

Solona paced like a caged tiger, hardly noticing the beautifully appointed rooms in which the castle staff had placed her, or the view of Denerim her balcony afforded.

She had to _think_.

They'd be leaving on the morrow, the Blight Companions, she, and her Wardens, to head to the teyrnir of Highever for two reasons: the first, ostensibly, was the last of the celebratory events – placing a monument to Duncan specifically and to all fallen Grey Wardens in general in the place Alistair had indicated Duncan thought of as home. It was also where Fergus Cousland, the teyrn of Highever would be, and as Amaranthine was an arling under his control, she as Arlessa of Amaranthine would have to formally bend the knee and pledge fealty to him. Their relationship would be very important – certainly he would not want angry Grey Wardens within his demesnes, nor an Orlesian-led Warden compound. As for her part, she could not afford to alienate him, or they'd been cut off from supplies and help before one could say, "darkspawn."

And those were only her _professional_ worries.

"Well. I see you are breaking hearts once again, no?" Leliana had said with a gentle smile, seated before the fire in Solona's quarters.

"No. At least, I'm not trying to. It just seems to…. happen."

"And you are surprised? Solona, really." Leliana got up, took the pacing woman by the hand, and drew her over to the looking glass. "What do you see?"

Solona looked away, frowining. "Leli, I don't…"

"Humor me. Look in the mirror. What do you see?"

Solona looked up briefly. "I see a skinny, tired woman, big eyes with circles under them, and red hair."

"Is that all?"

Solona shrugged. "What else would there be? Other than underfed, overtired, and overworked?"

Leliana put her fingers under Solona's chin and lifted it slightly. "Ready to hear what I see?"

"Do I have a choice?" Solona's tone was gentle and teasing rather than defensive, though.

" I see… a beautiful young woman. She is intelligent, and a strong leader. She listens to and really cares about the people who join her cause – and because she understands them, protects them, tries to bring them some happiness when she can and has put her own safety at risk to aid them – they will follow her anywhere willingly. She is a diplomat, but uses force when she needs to – and either of those qualities she is willing to use to club the other side into submission, if necessary. She has put two rulers on their respective thrones, put others' needs ahead of her own, saved the world, and all she asks is for others to be treated well. She is selfless, and noble in the best sense of the word."

Solona looked down. "Your looking glass must be enchanted. That's a person I could never aspire to be. What I see is someone who's exhausted, who's nervous and isn't sure she can do all the things others seem to think she can…."

"Hm, and that air of vulnerability is _irresistible_." Leliana led her over to the fire. "So…. How is being the Warden-Commander treating you?"

"It's not much different from our time on the road, except for having a castle to live in."

Leliana looked at Solona pointedly. "And how are you doing? I mean, since Alistair…."

Solona colored. "I've accepted the inevitable," she said shortly.

"Is there anyone else?"

"Should there be?"

Leliana laughed. "So defensive… and evasive. Shall I take that as a yes, then?"

Solona scowled. "I don't know. I don't know _anything_." She started to pace.

"You know that Zevran has always been fond of you," Leliana said carefully. "If not for you and Alistair…."

Solona looked into the fire. "And we know how well THAT ended up," she said bitterly.

"So what is stopping you now? You are very affectionate with Zev, no?"

Solona paced. "It's…. complicated."

"So there's someone else." Leliana stroked Solona's back. "Let me guess. It's not Oghren. And your other dwarf friend, I've seen how she acts with you. Definitely comrades. That leaves the handsome dark brooding man or the wickedly handsome blond mage."

"Leli…."

"But Mr. Broody, I am told, is a Howe, and after killing his father, neither of you would be eager to be friends, yes? Definitely the blond mage, then. You've shown a _marked_ preference for blonds. He's _very_ handsome." Leliana smiled. "And I imagine you have a lot in common, no? Same attitude about templars…."

"Leli, please." Solona sat down in front of the fire, her head in her hands.

"This has been difficult for you. For Alistair, too…."

"_Sod_ being the damned Hero, _sod_ how difficult it is, and _sod Alistair_!" Solona yelled.

Leliana waited patiently as Solona struggled to regain her composure, looking very embarrassed by her outburst.

"I don't _want_ to be here, Leliana, I don't _like_ all the adulation, I feel like I'm on display and everyone is waiting for me to mess up…" She leaned on the balustrade of her balcony, her magic potential crackling in the air, her voice growing quieter with every declaration.

"And what _do_ you want?"

Solona sighed. "I don't know. To curl up in a ball and sleep for a week, to begin with. To not be responsible for anyone or anything. To figure out how to be me, without all the baggage of the titles they seem intent on burying me under." She paced again. "To have ten sodding minutes between disasters would be nice. To not have the Chantry and Templars glaring at me as if I am some kind of dangerous animal that needs to be caged or shot."

"Is that all?" Leliana asked carefully.

"It's a _start_."

* * *

"She is tired and _stressed_, Alistair." Leliana said. "And what she absolutely does NOT need is more parties, more public appearances, more work. She needs a week or two to herself."

"I don't know that we can give it…."

"Shall I remind you that we are talking about a mage of truly terrifying ability whom we do NOT want to lose control?" Leliana leaned over. "Alistair – friend to friend here. She will not show it, but she is wounded and she needs time to recover."

Alistair sighed. "This isn't easy for me, either…"

"You were raised in the chantry, but were able to also live in the world. She was not, not until she was conscripted. _You_ had not carried the responsibility for all of us for a year. _She_ did. _You_ have a staff, and Eamon. _She_ does not. The woman I spoke with this afternoon, she is exhausted and does not know what to do or even who she really is…." Leliana sighed. "And you were her first love, and she hasn't had time to properly mourn you."

"I…." He tried to figure out a way to put it delicately. "She had, um, experienced…."

Leliana rapped him on the forearm with her fan. "No, pay attention! She… yes. Had experiences. Strictly physical in nature. You…. You shook her world to the core. Because it was the first time for her that she cared about someone else more than she cared for herself, no? And the first time someone cared about _her_, as a person, no matter _what_ she was. And just when she had learned this new way to live, fum! It is taken from her, and she is lost. She cannot live the way she did before because she is not that person anymore…. And she cannot depend on you – no blame, no fault, but there it is. She needs to find her footing again."

Alistair nodded. "I suppose you're right."

"You _know_ I am."

Alistair shook his head and started to think.


	29. Present and Accounted For

Solona awoke to big, sloppy canine kisses and a disappointingly cool and empty bed. Moaning, she fended the mabari off and got up.

As she moved from her sleeping chamber to the small, heated room attached to it, she found the tub already filled with rose-scented hot water. With a happy sigh, she slipped into the tub to tend to her morning ablutions. She tried hard to think only of what they needed to do today: mount up and ride to Highever for the memorial to Duncan and to formally pledge fealty to Teyrn Fergus Cousland. With any luck they'd be back in Vigil's Keep in two days' time.

She had not expected, but she had more than half _hoped_ that Anders would have found his way to her rooms in the palace. Even though she doubted either of them would have felt comfortable with the idea of getting _physical_ under Alistair's roof (so to speak), it would have been nice to chat things over.

She had been feeling very alone and out of sorts since arriving in Denerim. Being thrust together with Alistair over and over wasn't helping – not when she was trying hard to forget his comforting bulk, the way she'd never had to worry about who was watching her back, his soothing voice, even the scent of him. She bore him no ill will, but she could see herself all too easily giving in to her desires and making a fool of both herself and him.

_In peace, vigilance._

When she finally dragged herself out of the tub, she stepped back into the main room to find that the robes she had laid out the night before – and that she'd passed on the way into the private bath room – were gone. What lay in its place was incredibly beautiful – and daring.

It was a robe in Grey Warden blue, with a griffon stitched in silver upon the sleeve. As she picked it up, wonderingly, she realized it was cut in the Tevinter style – high necked, with a keyhole front and cutouts that bared her upper arms and would perfectly frame and enhance her natural feminine characteristics. This certainly was daring outside of Tevinter – the rest of Thedas seemed content to try to forget that mages were not genderless tools.

She stroked the pauldrons of softest silvery-white feathers. Seeing no other clothes about, she decided to slip it on.

It fit perfectly, skimming over her frame in a very attractive manner. As she moved, she realized the fabric was able to stretch and follow her – a marvel indeed. She turned and looked in the mirror, noting that the skirts were slit rather high on either side. She dropped into a crouch, one leg extended far to her right – and noted that the dress did not ride up, but instead allowed her a fuller range of motion than any other robes she'd ever worn before. A mystery, but one she was pretty sure that she'd already solved. Her lips curved up in a slight smile.

She went to pick up her very sturdy, serviceable and utilitarian boots outside her suite's door and found that they, too, were missing. In their place sat an absolutely exquisite pair of boots – midnight blue, supple leather, which came up over her knees but had a sensible low heel and soles that were wonderfully flexible. As she pulled them on she realized that they, too, fit like a second skin, and were beaded at the top with tiny silver beads in the shape of a ring of Andraste's Grace. These caused her to chuckle… there was no doubt in her mind where these had come from. She looked back in the mirror, studying the effect, and was amazed.

She went back into the bath room, and rather than simply pull her glossy red hair into a pony tail, she'd braided it back into an Orlesian style, and though she rarely bothered, she pulled out the pots of cosmetics she'd used for the grand dinner and dance, lightly tinting her cheekbones, her lips, and darkening her lashes.

Leliana would be proud of the effect, she thought with a smile.

As she stepped back out into the suite and passed her bed, she saw an exquisite belt laid out there – one in black with a small sheath attached. It wrapped around her hips twice, draping in a VERY attractive way, as if the supple leather were alive and clinging to her. Her fingers worked the snap on the sheath and she pulled out a wickedly sharp silverite dagger, the hilt carved ebony, with a small but brilliant sapphire set into the pommel.

"Very sexy," she chuckled to herself, resheathing it carefully. She wondered if she should leave it here rather than roam the castle with it – it might give the royal guards fits – but decided that since she could kill them with her mind were she so inclined, carrying a dagger was the least of their worries. She left it on.

Barkly whuffed as she was about to leave the room, and took her by the wrist solemnly, pulling her toward the storage cabinet in the corner of the room. When she opened it, she saw – next to her very serviceable staff – one carved from ebony, with protective runes in silver set into it. She lifted the staff and felt it thrumming with electricity. With a chuckle, she strapped it onto her back.

"I see we are very formal today," she said to the dog, fondling his ears.

Then came the walk to the dining room, Barkly at her heel. She was amused by how the servants goggled at her as she walked by – they'd seen her many times before and not been impressed. _Well_, she thought, _perhaps I will have to aim to be more impressive_.

Nathaniel met her at the door to the dining room, and the look on his face made Solona blush. It had rapidly gone from recognizing her, to surprise, to fleeting attraction and now was set in a genuine smile. "My lady, may I escort you to the gardens this morning?"

"It would be my pleasure, ser."

Out in the garden, a large table had been set up near a pleasantly gurgling fountain. There was a hedge made from rose bushes screening the areas from casual view, and the scent of flowers and the buzzing of bees was very relaxing. A single woof from Barkly, and the company sitting around the table rose, smiling as she was escorted to a seat at Alistair's right.

"Happy name day, Solona," he murmured, squeezing her hand gently as he seated her.

She glanced around the table in surprise, and her eyes found Anders smirking. With a wink, her fellow mage said, "How could I _ever_ forget your name day?"

Solona's cheeks went pink. How indeed? On her sixteenth name day, she had sought Anders out and had gotten an education in matters not _formally_ taught in the tower. She met his eyes again and he laughed with delight at her expression. But that – that was a decade ago. She was touched that he still remembered.

"Thank you, everyone," she said, quietly but sincerely. "This was unexpected…. but much appreciated."

"Ah, sod that," Oghren grunted, getting up and walking over to her seat, something wrapped in blue suede in his hands which he thrust at her. "You deserve **this** and more."

Solona grinned to see a large metal stein with a hinged cover lay under the wrapping. The handle was a griffon rampant. "Thanks, Oghren," she said, dropping a kiss on the dwarf's cheek.

"Me next!" Sigrun bounced over to her, grinning, and presented her with a rag doll with orange yarn hair and embroidered blue eyes. It was wearing mage robes, but there was another pouch with cunningly stitched suede armor that looked suspiciously like Wade's dragonbone armor. Solona laughed out loud at that and set it up to sit next to her plate.

Alistair handed her a carved griffon statuette, and ruefully showed her the half-healed slash on his thumb.

"You did this yourself?" she marveled, turning it over. It was a surprisingly good likeness.

"Yes, somehow I _did_ manage to do things for myself at one time," he teased back. "and do still, occasionally… when Eamon is not panicking and my captain of the guard not despairing of the risks I take in walking and talking _all by myself_."

"You're king," she said, repeating what she'd told him after the Landsmeet a year ago, smiling to take the edge off her words. "Tell them to sod off if they don't like it."

He smiled, a little painfully. That conversation was _never_ going to be easy to remember.

She smiled at Leliana. "The boots are exquisite," she said.

"I am so glad you like them! I thought every woman – even our Warden-Commander – has the right to pretty feet." Leliana grinned.

"And the robes… Anders?"

"Guilty as charged," he said with a smile. "I must admit the final effect is even _beyond_ what I pictured."

"Given your predilection for racing in where sane people fear to tread," Wynne said with a gentle smile, "I thought this staff might be useful. Here now: press the third rune from the top."

Solona did, and a wickedly sharp blade popped out of the bottom. "Wynne!" Solona said in mixed delight and shock.

"Given that I've seen you wade in and fight with your staff when your mana ran low, I thought you might require an edge." She smiled. "Zevran was instrumental in finding a craftsman able to create this for you."

"And I see," Zevran said with a wicked smirk, "that you wear my gift well, too. I will ask that you avoid throwing that one unless absolutely necessary, my dear warden-commander. It would be a shame to dull that blade."

Nathaniel shrugged, and handed her a bottle of wine… one of the vintages she had mentioned had been a favorite at Kinloch Hold. "I'm afraid this might not be as impressive as the other gifts you've received today…"

"No," she assured him, smiling, her eyes suspiciously bright, "it's perfect. Thank you, one and all. I can't tell you how much this means to me."

"You always seemed to find the perfect gifts for us," Leliana murmured as she hugged Solona and went to take a seat.

There was a muffled bark behind her, and Solona turned to see Barkly with a cardboard box wrapped with string in his mouth. She took the box, and carefully cut it open with Zev's dagger – which necessitated only pressing it very lightly against the twine.

Inside was a cake, blessedly NOT mouthed or drooled on as the last one Barkly had brought her had been, and as he wagged his tail proudly, Solona began to laugh.


	30. In Blackest Day

_Pain_. _Cold._

_Solona's eyes had fluttered open, and even the light in the dim cell seemed to hurt. The last thing she remembered was Ser Cauthrien and her men ambushing her, Leliana, Zevran and Wynne as they'd led Erlina and Anora safely to the doors of Rendon Howe's latest estate as Arl of Denerim. The horrors they had seen in his dungeons – the poor, broken people they had let escape – and now this._

_Solona was glad she'd left Alistair safely back at Eamon's estate. It had always been painfully obvious, at least to her, that this had been a trap. If Alistair with his legitimate claim to the throne had been with them, she'd no doubt he'd have ended up in a midden heap with his throat slit. Now the trap had been sprung, and now her comrades and Eamon would know**.**_

_She and her team had flung themselves at Cauthrien and her guards, and she'd seen Anora and Erlina cut and run. It was no more than she had expected, but it would have been nice had they actually, you know, stayed to help. Or announced themselves, given that Cauthrien seemed to think that Solona and her team were here to kidnap and murder the queen._

_Solona's wounds burned worse than any she'd taken in battle before, and she could feel herself slowing and her mana slow to replenish. She'd managed to knock Cauthrien out before she was crushed to the ground by the remaining guardsmen, who had apparently chosen that time to retrieve their balls from Cauthriens' coin pouch, man up, and charge Solona together. Her head had slammed against the floor, there had been a blinding flash of pain and bright light… and here she was._

_Solona groaned and tried to sit up. Everything hurt, and as she pushed past the nausea and the fuzzy feeling in her head, she realized that one of the reasons she was so cold was that she'd been dumped into the cell in her smallclothes. _

_Time to assess._

_There was a knot on the back of her head the size of an egg, and her hair was matted with blood over it. It hurt to touch, and she hissed with the pain of it. Her back seemed to burn as if aflame, and she could not stop a whimper as she turned her head and her hair pulled away from the scabs from her back, tugging hard at torn flesh._

_Cuts and bruises on her arms and legs. Broken fingers, she was sure. Some she recognized, half-healed from earlier injuries. Fingermarks, deep purple, on her forearms. Probably from being dragged in here. Marks on her ankles…. bruises… bruises on her legs, on her thighs… blood on her thighs and her small clothes. _

_She turned her head to the side and vomited as the last few hours suddenly burned in her memory – the beating she'd taken, the liberties taken by one of the male guards, the heel grinding on her hand as she lay on the floor begging – for her life? For her death? She was no longer sure. She'd been asked about Orlesians invading, had no knowledge of any plans for such, had said, then screamed, then sobbed out her ignorance, and finally had simply begged, her voice hoarse and broken._

_Solona closed her eyes a moment, dizzy… sick… She thanked the Maker and Andraste and whomever else might be listening and cared about her that she had finally lost consciousness and gained a respite, no matter how slight, from the abuse… and that Alistair had not been present to hear or worse see it, raging and desperate in his own cell and his own misery._

_She tried to push herself to her hands and knees, sobbed with the pain and effort of it, trying to choke down the bile she felt and tasted burning in the back of her throat. The pain, coiling in her gut, making her legs tremble. She had to move. Had to get up. Fight, or die._

_At least she had seen Rendon Howe gurgling his last at the end of her sword. And Alistair was safe, for the moment. If she were to die here in this cell, or to die screaming on the rack, at least she would die knowing she had done all she could for him to buy him time and get revenge for the Grey Wardens. _

_I'm not needed any more… now that Riordan of Jader is free, they are still two. They still can kill the Archdemon._

_She heard the key rattling in the cell door, and despite her calm inner monologue, she panicked, scuttling back from the door in terror, trying to hide herself, curl in on herself, in the farthest corner of the cell. Her mana had been ripped from her; she did not yet have enough to light a candle. _Magebane_, her mind announced quietly. _You've been dosed with magebane.

_The cell door opened, and she ground her teeth, biting down on the shriek that fought to tear free of her throat. She would not give them the satisfaction…_

_Loghain and two guards -female guards- strode into the cell._

_Solona scrambled to her feet, placing her back in the corner, trying to cover herself. Her blue eyes followed the Regent as he came closer…._

_She hawked and spat a bloody gob of phlegm at his feet._

_One of the two guards moved swiftly, winding up to backhand her across the face. _Good. Perhaps I can provoke them into killing me cleanly now.

_The guard's wrist was caught. "No." Loghain reached over his shoulder, tossed Solona a tunic a good two sizes too large. She caught it and slid into it, no less vulnerable but at least no longer advertising her injuries and her humiliation._

So this is how it is. Good watchman, bad watchman._ Solona might have been amused had she not seen this game played out every day of her life in the Circle._

"_I don't expect that you will believe me," Loghain began, "but I do not take any pleasure in any of… this. You have been a honorable foe." He paused, frowing, as if trying to find some way to frame the next words. In the end, he chose to be direct. "The guard who raped you has been hanged in the courtyard as an object lesson to the rest." There was a burning anger in his eyes as he related this to her. She wasn't sure why he should care that she had been violated, when people were being tortured, maimed, and killed here.  
_

"_Congratulations on having some standards?" she grated. Her voice was harsh, rasping.  
_

_His face was difficult to read. Certainly she could see in it that he thought this – the civil war, her imprisonment, even her death – was necessary. Yet there did seem some… regret? Respect?_

"_Duncan and Cailan were right about one thing: you are magnificent. Defiant to the last. I only wish that you could have been my ally and not my enemy."_

"_I _**was**_ your ally until you as much as murdered our king, and all those poor bastards in the gorge with him at Ostagar." She hissed at him like a furious cat. "We fought our way through the tower, Alistair and I, darkspawn in every corner. We fought and killed an ogre so that I might light the beacon myself. And then I looked down and watched as you quit the field and left them – left us – to die."_

"_You cannot be expected to understand, but had I committed my troops there, there would be NOTHING left to oppose the Blight now…."_

"_The Blight you claimed **did not exist**." Solona stepped forward, shaking like a leaf, but putting herself in arm's reach. "Have some decency and end this now. If you won't step aside, end _me_. Snap my neck, cut my throat, cut my heart out. Don't leave me to the tender mercies of your… creatures here."_

"_Do you not believe your comrades will rescue you, then?"_

"_No. Strategically, it's a disaster. They need to focus on their next move, not waste energy retrieving a dead comrade." _

_His piercing ice blue eyes bored into hers. "You… actually believe that what you're doing…what you've BEEN doing… is for the good of Ferelden, don't you?"_

"_You threw away one army… to grab for power. I have forged another to defend Ferelden." She spat. "ONE of us needs to take this Blight seriously."_

"_Did you think to rule Ferelden as her queen?" he sneered._

_She laughed – short, harsh, humorless. "Do we stand in **Tevinter**, regicide, or in Ferelden? What **mage** would **ever** rule here?"_

_Loghain had been quiet a long time, then nodded to one of the two guards and she stepped forward, one hand in a pouch on her uniform, reaching toward Solona. Solona had backed quickly into her corner again and had glared death at them both. "Don't. Touch. Me."_

_He nodded, almost to himself. "I had thought to have her ease your pain…"_

"_There is **nothing** I want from you, other than your life or the taking of mine."_

_He'd stared at her again, a disturbing intensity to his eyes. "I have no doubt that we will meet again."_

"_In that case, please have some clothes sent so I can look dignified as I dance on the end of the hangman's rope," she'd said bitterly._

* * *

Solona sat up suddenly, her heart pounding with fear, her body drenched with sweat. Her sheets felt clammy and she shook them off with a grunt.

She really needed to get out of Denerim. Too many memories here, crowding in on her and battering her defenses.

She'd never told Alistair the extent of her injuries. Wynne knew, of course… Wynne had sent Sten and Morrigan out of their shared rooms… had examined and healed her physical hurts. What good would it have done to tell him? Or any of them? She was sure Leliana suspected all of what had transpired. Leliana had known more than her fair share of heartbreak, too.

_Maker above, I am broken, _she thought sadly_. I don't think I will ever be able to open myself emotionally to anyone again. _That begged the question of whether she was being fair with Anders. Perhaps it would be more… honest to take up with Zev instead – Zev who was very open and clear about his disdain for romantic entanglements and very much in favor of physical entanglements only.

She took a deep breath, grabbing her despair with both hands and pushing it deep below the surface. _A morbid mood today_, she thought.

_I killed the Archdemon, with the support of the finest men and women of Thedas at my back. I placed two men on their respective thrones. And my example, as a mage who could love and sacrifice for her country has made things better at the Circle. But Maker, one night where I can sleep through… that's all I ask. _


	31. Gilded Cages

"Fade take it, I don't know what we should do regarding these talking darkspawn," Solona said to Nathaniel, drinking a hot cup of coffee as they talked late into the night. "Yes, we've got these two factions, and one seems worse than the other, but I'm thinking that doesn't necessarily make ANY of 'em our new chums."

"I wonder…."

"Wonder away, Nate."

He leaned forward. "Well. The Architect seems to know a good deal about Wardens… perhaps there are records back at Weisshaupt about him?"

Solona chuckled ruefully. "Yes, they're SO good about sharing information, aren't they…" She picked up quill and paper and quickly started to dash off a cover letter for the report she'd already been preparing. "I don't know… for all the talk of brotherhood, et cetera, I sometimes get the feeling that they'd love to see us fall flat on our faces. It's the only reason I can think of that Alistair and I were left alone for nearly two years without any guidance… except at the very end, from a single warden steps from his own Calling. Even now… they sent us a dozen Wardens, they know they were lost to darkspawn, and no further aid is coming."

"Perhaps they think Ferelden is cursed, Solona."

"Certainly is for Orlesian Wardens, it seems."

Nathaniel stilled. "That sounds… rather like something Loghain or my father might have thought."

"It does, a little." Solona looked troubled. "Still, what other reason can you think of that they wouldn't send more wardens to see what was happening once they lost contact with Duncan?" She looked thoughtful. "We're still pretty much on our own here, and not getting much oversight… I wonder if we shouldn't find out as much as we can and then… I don't know, go independent. Seems like we are, pretty much, anyway."

Nathaniel looked at her for long moments, in considering silence. "Are you sure you're not a rogue of some sort rather than a mage?" he asked after a while.

She raised an eyebrow. "Is there a backhanded compliment in there somewhere?" she teased.

"It just seems that your plans are rather… sneaky and political in nature."

"Ah. Well. Living in the Circle was rather sneaky and political in nature," she admitted. "To get anything done, one needed to gain the trust, favor… or ally with… older mages who could smooth the way. And in a place where there is no privacy and you house hundreds of men and women together…. sneaky is second nature."

Nathaniel frowned for a moment, then realized. "Wait, you mean…"

Solona looked at him steadily. "This… this is first time in my life that I have ever had the luxury of a room of my own… and a door which locks… which _I_ can choose to lock and unlock as I please." She gave him a pained look. "There are so many things we take for granted about each other's experiences. So many assumptions. Do you remember those stupid questions I asked about your family and living here and how great it must have been?"

"They weren't stupid questions. Actually, they were assumptions many who had not been locked away in a tower all their lives would have made as well."

Solona stood and stretched, and Nathaniel heard several of her joints pop. "Glad to hear I'm not a complete ignoramus," she grinned.

"Why do you do it, though?" Nathaniel asked.

Solona frowned a little. "Do what?"

"Accept the Circle. Mages in general, I mean, not you personally."

Solona's mood darkened visibly, and Nathaniel felt a tiny upsurge in her magical potential - not enough to be visible, but for someone who'd worked closely with her for months, he could feel it - like nails dragged across slate.

"It's… everything in our society is arranged to make that the only choice one can see," she said quietly and bitterly. "You're stolen from your parents as a young child - or given up by them out of fear of what you'll do or fear of the Chantry. You're isolated from the rest of society so what happens in the tower is all you know, and you don't know any better. You're drilled in how dangerous your magic is and how careful you must be - and that's to the good, believe me - but there's all the Chantry crap about evil and sin thrown in. One of my yearmates loathed herself and prayed daily to have her curse lifted or for a swift death so she could be with the Maker." Solona gritted her teeth. "Can you imagine… a young, beautiful, talented person wanting to die because she thought herself cursed and evil."

"That's….." Nathaniel trailed off.

"If you're not amenable enough to obey all the rules, there are punishments. Solitary confinement was a popular one. And templars everywhere…." Solona walked to her window, looked out even though it was dark outside. "Now that I am outside it… I can see that it was a prison and I never knew it."

She turned to Nathaniel. "I think… that's why I am wondering whether we need oversight from the Anderfels so badly. They're not really doing anything to support us and I don't want the Wardens in Ferelden to be a prison… any more than it needs to be."

"You realize this is going to cause a great deal of trouble…"

Solona looked at her feet, nodded. "I know. That's why we're discussing it. And I wouldn't do anything without getting everyone's agreement. I… we can't afford to be divided. I won't pit any of us against the rest."

Nathaniel came to her by the windows, and gently took her by both shoulders. Solona looked up, frowning slightly in confusion.

"Perhaps… perhaps I should go to the Anderfels… do some research and see if there is anything I can find out about The Architect. I can deliver your report and… get an idea for myself what their attitude is towards us."

Solona looked worried. "Nate… what if they order you to stay…?"

He smiled wolfishly. "Now, when have you known _me_ to stay put and do as I am told?"

She took a step back, crossing her arms across her chest. "Correct me if I am misremembering, but we DID first exchange pleasantries through a cell door?"

He chuckled. "Ah, but I did not have increased strength, stamina and all the rest then. It'll take at least _ten_ wardens to take me down now."

"Ass." She grinned when she said it, smacking him on the upper arm.

"I really do think it best," he said, sobering. "Perhaps you're reading the situation wrong - given there's been little communication on this."

"Perhaps. But my mage sense is tingling." She sighed. "It does seem like the only decent choice we have, though. Take Oswin with you… he's a healer as well as a mean hand at primal magic. And Zev tells me he's particularly deft with his daggers."

Nathaniel nodded. "Best get some rest then. I'll need to be up bright and early to ruin Oswin's day."

Solona gave a sad but quirky grin. "Be careful, Nate. I haven't lost a companion… well, a companion's life yet, and I would like to keep that spotless record."

He started to walk out of the office, then hesitated. "Solona… how are you doing? Really."

She looked at him for a while, then shrugged elaborately. "I'll let you know when I figure it out myself."


	32. Interlude

Solona found herself comfortably ensconced in a cozy little sitting room in Castle Cousland, sipping some tea and nibbling daintily on a cookie. Across from her sat Teyrn Fergus Cousland, who, though very charming, seemed incredibly sad under the surface. She could understand why, and probably more than most - he'd had his entire family torn away from him less than two years previously.

She found herself in Highever to officially bend her knee to her liege. As Arlessa of Amaranthine, she was expected to be loyal to him.

"I assure you, Teyrn Cousland, that Vigil's Keep shall support you in all things."

"Commander, I know you are a woman who keeps her promises," he reassured her. "The Gweirrens are only too glad to tell how you swore to save them all - and did. Each time I hear one of your tales, it is about some seemingly impossible promise you made and then kept. I doubt there are many less likely to be forsworn than you." His eyes darkened, and the lines around them became more prominent. "Do I hear correctly, however, that you have a Howe living at the keep?"

Solona sighed inwardly. "We do, my lord. Nathaniel Howe, though we do relinquish our titles when we become wardens."

His eyes narrowed. "May I ask why?"

Solona sighed out loud. "Teyrn Cousland, in the first place, he is newly arrived from the Free Marches, where he has been a squire for the past eight years. In the second place, through no fault of his own, his name is now a black one - and well I know your acquaintance with the matter. But… surely you must know him - or have known him. Did you not know each other as young men?"

Cousland nodded. "I did… but I can't help wondering how much of his father he takes after."

"From what I see, none at all. We had words about his father, on several occasions. After speaking to his sister, he's come to see that yes, his father really WAS that bad." Solona set her cup down. "At any rate, Your Lordship, he's currently out of Ferelden entirely on Warden business."

Cousland nodded. "Very well. I have… a personal matter to discuss with you. I know that you killed Rendon Howe, and for that I am glad - but…."

"My Lord?"

"It's my sister." He looked at her wearily. "My parents' bodies, as well as my wife's and son's, were all found. My younger sister's, however…." He smiled wearily. "I know it's foolish to hold out hope that she still lives, but… if there's any… records, journals, things of that nature that you could research…"

Solona reached over the table and gave his hand a squeeze, which seemed to startle Cousland until he saw the earnest look she was giving him. "Done, my lord. I don't know that we'll find anything but we'll certainly keep you apprised of our progress."

She wondered: could the younger Cousland still live? and if she did - where might she be?


	33. Shades of Grey

Solona woke, her back cold, shivering, in her bedroll, muzzy-headed and confused for a moment. _What an odd dream she'd been having…_

The tent flap eased open, and a familiar shadow crossed in front of the diffused light coming through the canvas from the fire. Swiftly but quietly, her love slipped in under the blanket and snuggled tightly against her back, his arm stealing around her. She shivered, partly from his clothes being chilled from his foray outside, partly out of the delicious feeling of _yes, home!_ that he evoked.

"Sorry I woke you," he murmured in her ear, gathering her up safely against him again.

She smiled, turning in his arms. "Well now. You're awake and I'm awake. What a coincidence."

He chuckled softly, kissing her forehead. "Sleep, you minx. We've a long way to go in the morning."

She gave a long suffering sigh, curling into his chest. "Alistair," she said softly, "I had the oddest dream."

"Odd? Or ODD?" he murmured, stroking her hair.

"Odd. I dreamt you were the king, and that because I am a mage, they forced you to set me aside. They wanted to marry you off to some noble you'd never met."

He kissed her again, this time long and lingering on the lips. "Well, we both know I'd _never_ become king… and if I ever _did_ by some insane twist of fate, I would _never_ send you away." He began to rub her back in slow, soothing strokes. "Sleep, love."

* * *

The next thing she knew, it was morning. They'd broken down their camp fairly quickly, loading it onto their horses' saddles. "We should make Highever by noon, I think," Alistair murmured as he fastened the rolled-up tent behind his horse's saddle.

Solona nodded. "A hot meal at Castle Cousland would be most welcome." Teyrn Fergus was a good man who treated Wardens well.

They mounted up, and a whistle brought her mabari, Barkly, on the run. With the blight all but over here, it was time to head up through Ferelden to the Anderfels, to make their report to the First Warden in person.

After they had been riding side by side at a leisurely pace for a while, Alistair asked, "Do you think I would actually be a good king?"

Solona chuckled. "Your Royal Highness," she said, "I must admit to being more than a little biased regarding the question."

"Well, I'm perfectly content being the king of your heart," he grinned.

* * *

"Wardens, welcome to Highever." Fergus Cousland came to meet them at the gate himself. _But wait… how had they gotten here so fast?_

Solona swung out of the saddle and shook his hand firmly. "Teyrn Cousland, a pleasure as always."

Alistair and she followed him in, leading their horses. Cousland didn't waste time getting straight to the heart of the matter.

"The Queen has asked that you put off your plans to travel to Weisshaupt for a week or so – it seems that she has something she would like to discuss with you both."

Solona felt her stomach clench uncomfortably – but why? Neither she nor Alistair had anything to fear from Anora. He'd very publicly sworn fealty to her and sworn that he had no interest, ever, in her throne. Yet something felt… wrong about this whole situation, and Solona worried.

"Surely the First Warden will understand a short delay," Alistair said gently, picking up as usual on her feelings.

"I suppose," Solona said. _Where were their horses? Had a stable boy taken them while they spoke to Cousland?_

"You are both most welcome to remain here until she arrives." Cousland motioned to a servant. "Please take the wardens to the guest suite."

* * *

_Wait… how did they get to their room so quickly? _

"What's wrong, my love?"

She looked up into Alistair's worried eyes and smiled, putting her arms around his neck and drawing him down for a kiss. She must be so tired she was losing time, was all. "And what could be wrong, love, with you beside me?"

"You just seem so… distant. Worried." He nuzzled her ear. "Is it because we're leaving Ferelden soon? I know it was quite the adjustment living outside of the tower – are you worried about what lies out there?"

She snuggled into him. "I'm more concerned about what lies right here." She grinned and slid her arms down his back, then pulled him closer to her.

"Minx." He grinned and nibbled at her ear. "Are you trying to corrupt me with your wicked, wicked ways?"

"Depends. Am I succeeding?" She ground into him, and nipped at his ear.

"Oh Maker, yes…." He growled in that way he did when he was really aroused, and she found herself suddenly on the soft featherbed across the room…

"Lona."

That didn't sound like Alistair so much.

"_Lona!"_

She looked, and standing at the beside was…. _Anders_?

"_Fade take it!_" Solona sat up abruptly, reaching to pull the sheet up to cover herself, angry and humiliated… and found she was sitting on the ground. She looked up at Anders, confused.

Anders reached down and grabbed her wrist, helping to lever her up. "We need to go, 'Lona. You need to wake up."

"What?"

"You need to wake up NOW, 'Lona." He pulled out his staff, turning in the direction of some rather frightening growling. She saw some demons gathering and advancing on them.

"Anders?" She wasn't sure what was real now… was he here, or another distraction?

"_**NOW!"**_ And then there was blinding pain and a flash of brilliant white light.

* * *

"…I think she's coming around."

Solona's eyes fluttered open, and her hand went to her burning cheek. She looked up with confusion to see both Anders and Zevran standing over her, and she said the most insightful thing she could….

"What….?"

"My dear Warden, you had us very worried," Zev said lightly, rubbing his right hand slightly.

"What…." She looked up at Anders, who looked very haggard.

"We couldn't wake you, 'Lona." He smoothed her hair back gently.

She frowned. "How long?" she rasped, and Zev handed her a cup of water as she sat up.

"Three days," the elf said quietly.

"_Three….!"_ She looked up at Anders.

"We're, uh, going to need to seriously replenish our stores of lyrium," he said quietly.

So he HAD been in the Fade…. He'd seen… Solona groaned.

"Are you well?" Zevran pushed her hair behind her ear, looked to Anders. "Could you…"

"I'm tapped out," Anders said wearily. "That'll have to heal on its own."

Solona frowned. "What's going on… what trapped me in the Fade?"

"Not sure yet," Anders said. "Whatever it was offering… it must have been very,,, attractive." He didn't quite meet her eyes.

"Anders…" She reached over, put her hand on his arm. "Thanks. For… rescuing me."

"Hey. That's what friends do." He took her hand and tugged. "Out of bed, you… no more lollygagging about. At least till we find out what wanted you out of the picture, anyhow."


	34. Take Two Elfroot, Call Me in the Morning

Solona whirled to her right, thrusting with the end of her staff, right at the ribs of one of her newest Grey Warden recruits. She staggered as he thrust a hand toward her and a bolt of energy flared against her arcane shield.

"Good! Again!" she grunted, this time casting Winter's Grasp at him. Darcian blocked it deftly and sent Stone's Fist at her. Solona grinned in wild abandon as she sparred magically – and physically – with the young mage and gradually pushed him harder and harder.

* * *

"I never thought I'd say this, but I'll be happy to see Howe's brooding arse back here," Oghren grunted, watching Solona fight from the sidelines. He'd fought at her side many times before of course, during their adventures across Ferelden, but he'd never had the luxury of watching her in action.

"Jeez, if she ever wants to join the Legion of the Dead I'm sure they'll waive the height requirement," Sigrun joked.

"We fought alongside the Legion in the Deep Roads," Oghren mused. "Karsol was impressed enough he came to the surface with his men to fight the Archdemon."

"I can see why. She's sodding amazing."

"Yeah, the rest of our little crew wasn't so bad either." His gaze wandered over his shoulder to where Anders and Zevran were seated a little way off. They seemed to be watching Solona as she sparred, and occasionally talking very seriously. "Never thought I'd see those two hit it off."

Sigrun poked him. "Duh, they're both worried about something. Probably our fearless leader. I mean her game face is great but if you catch her in an unguarded moment she just looks… sad."

"Not surprised," Oghren grunted, and left it at that. "What I understand, she's had little enough joy in her life, and shit tons of responsibility and duty."

"Yeah, but doesn't she look joyous now, knocking that mageling of hers flat on his ass?" Sigrun grinned.

"Oghren! Sigrun!" Solona was waving them over. "C'mere and let Arda see what it's like to try to fight dwarves."

Sigrun's face lit up, and she said to Oghren, "Wait 'till she casts her first spell and we shrug it off!"

* * *

"I'm not sure," Anders was saying to Zevran, sitting on rightmost side of the steps up to the keep. "Were it a desire demon, it should have shown itself when the illusion shattered. "Maybe it's some other kind of fade spirit."

"Be that as it may, our dear Warden Commander needs to take better care not to get so thoroughly ensnared – though I cannot understand it. She has navigated the Fade before. As a matter of fact, she freed me from a nightmare in which I was entrapped. I would have thought she'd have known better." The former Crow studied Anders. "What did you see?"

"Nothing of import," he said, a little too sharply.

Zevran grinned. "So… did her dream representation of me feature the hugely adorable dimples in my cheeks – all four of them?"

Anders watched her as she finally tripped the new Warden and sent him flying – then reached down to help him up. In a flash, the other mage yanked her down, rolled over her, and had his staff across her throat.

Anders stood, while Zev watched with interest. "That's a move I taught him."

Solona shifted, and Zev winced as he saw her knee come up sharply.

"_That's_ a move living in the Circle taught her." Anders muttered.

"Well that's ONE way to get him off. Rather effective lesson itself, for him." Zev said.

Anders sat down again, watching as she helped the other mage up a second time – this time without getting yanked down.

She came over to them, perspired and covered with dirt and grass. "Good kid," she said, nodding back at her partner who was limping to the sidelines. "Got a little too cocky, though. Better review with him how to spread his weight so his opponent can't knee him, Zev."

"I think he will remember that now _very_ clearly."

"I didn't hit him very hard," she protested.

"You don't have to HIT them. You just have to GRAZE them," Zevran said, wincing.

"Noted." She sat beside Anders and watched Oghren and Sigrun playing with the new recruits.

They sat side by side, not saying anything, not looking at each other, just watching the dwarves forcing the mage-wardens to use their physical skills to get at them.

After about fifteen minutes of silence, Zev got up. "Well, the two of you are so loud I can't think. Perhaps a glass of wine and a long soak in the tub will soothe my frazzled nerves." He winked at them both. "Feel free to drop in."

* * *

Solona waited until Zev had walked away, then said quietly, "I think I'll go make up some lyrium potions… could use a hand if you've got the time."

"Sure." Anders got up. He knew that was simply a pretext; making potions was tedious, rather than terribly difficult.

Solona headed into the keep, and as she passed by the kitchen she snagged a bottle of wine and a bowl of apples, grapes and cheese. No matter what else was going on – and no matter how slight she was – the infamous Warden hunger kept her nibbling all day.

When they'd got to the workroom, Solona put the wine and food on a table near the door, then gathered up the makings for lyrium potions. She put them on the work table, and sighed unhappily, looking down at the clean flasks and the lyrium dust. "Anders…"

His hands dropped onto her shoulders, and he gave them a comforting squeeze. "'Lona…"

Well, that was promising. She took a deep breath. "I just… three days?"

He started to massage her shoulders, his breath tickling her ear. "You've been running yourself ragged and you haven't had a chance to rest. If you had, you never would have stayed in the Fade that long. So as your healer – as your friend – and as the man who _quite_ enjoys waking up beside you in the morning, I'm prescribing four days of rest, starting now. Let Varel worry about the day to day running of the Vigil; he did it before we all arrived here. Let me or Sigrun handle any Warden business that comes up; let Zevran and Oghren scare the piss out of the junior Wardens."

She turned to look at him, and he laughed to see her expression warring between surprise, then stubborn determination, then frustration. "But…"

"No ifs, ands, or buts. And I intend to make SURE that you relax, sweetheart."

Solona bit her lip, frowning worriedly. "About the Fade…"

He sighed. "Yes?"

"Well, um, I…"

"Are you _determined_ to make this a 'thing'?" he asked. "Because it's not. The important part was getting you back into the waking world."

"I just… it feels… awkward."

He nuzzled her burning cheek. "I'm under no illusions about you working through your grief, 'Lona. It's still fresh. And since it's _my_ name on your lovely lips when we're… how did you put it to Ser Cullen years ago? Ah, right. 'Engaged…' I'm going to assume that I have your full…" He kissed her ear. "Undivided…" He nibbled and sucked on her earlobe and made her gasp and grab the edge of the table to keep her balance. "Attention."

"Um, right….what were we talking about?" she grinned sheepishly as she started to prepare the first batch of lyrium potions.


	35. Sexy and I Know It

Anders may seem a foolish man to most, certainly not a _serious_ one by any means, but when he grabbed me that morning there was nothing on his face but grim determination. And two days later, when she _still_ had not awakened, Anders collected me, took the keep's entire store of lyrium potions, and went into the Fade after her, telling me that I had to watch them, that I might have to play templar and end it for _both_ of them.

In the end, it did not come to that, though we may have come closer than I realized at the time. Hours had passed with both silent as the grave, and the suddenly Anders was shouting in the waking world even as he battled in the Fade that I _had_ to snap her out of it, that she had to wake up NOW. And so, for the second time in our association, I raised my hand against that woman and I struck her, twice, sharply, across the face.

She came to with a tearing gasp, her hand already going to her cheek, her eyes muddy and confused. Whatever she had seen in the Fade – to fool her, when I knew her expertise in navigating it – it must have been powerful and compelling. She'd looked up at Anders and I saw the confusion morph to gratitude and that look she gives _only_ him, that look that tells me she has bound herself to him, that tells me that all the flirtation I send her way will only _be_ flirtation… and then that look became shame. I knew – my true self had been laid bare in the fade – and so her inner self must have been laid bare when Anders went after her.

The thought that we might have lost our dear leader permanently to the Fade terrifies me. I had been there, once before, when our quest to save the Circle of Magi so they could help us against the Archdemon brought us into conflict with a sloth demon.

On that occasion, she battled her way through the fade like a legendary shield maiden of the Anderfels, slaughtering every demon that stood in her way. More than that – she _came_ for me. And not in the way one might assume _I _would use that word. She is the first person who ever, EVER thought enough of me to place her well-being, body and soul, between me and such mortal danger. And my soul was laid bare before her and she did not flinch, she did not judge, and she yet made me feel worthy of her friendship and affection.

She had found me bound on a rack in my own private hell, being tormented by what I thought were Crows trying to shape me into the weapon that I already had become. There was no pity in her eyes as she told me quietly that I already was a Crow, that we were in the Fade, that I must resist as they were demons, not my comrades. And when she cut me loose, we turned and slaughtered the demons. Together.

The most amazing thing about her is her ability to see beneath the surface. Our first meeting, it was not conducive to building trust, truly. Who in their right mind not only spares the assassin who fails to kill them, but invites them to join their band, cook their food, stand watch over the camp as they sleep? Solona did. Her true magic is in seeing and _knowing_ people, really knowing them. She knew from the first she could trust me – and to be honest, I thought she was mad. _I_ didn't know she could trust me.

And yet she did, and she came for me in the Fade, and she took on the Crows in the waking world to free me from them. And simply because I was her companion and her friend. What did she want of me? Nothing. She valued my friendship, nothing more. A rare thing, to find beauty and compassion in one as abused in her way, damaged in her way, as she is. Perhaps it is why we understand each other so well. That beauty and compassion, as well as the strength and determination – ah, truly… it made her a deadly sex goddess, as I was happy to point out before she accepted my vow.

I could see she didn't trust her voice quite yet when she took my hand and squeezed it, hard. And then the tiniest nod, a pained smile, an acknowledgment that this was not the first time she had found me protecting her back, offering support… and how naturally her hand fit into mine, whether she was leading me from the darkness, or I was leading her.

"Dearest heart," I grinned, my words lighter and more teasing than the painful tightness I felt in my chest, "there is no need for you to linger so long in the Fade." I kissed the back of her hand, forcing a smirk. "If you wish to taste of the pleasures I could undoubtedly evoke in you, you need only call upon your humble companion. Any time, day or night, it will be my…. Pleasure."

"Ass," Anders snorted, though when I quickly raised my eyes to his, I realized there was no real heat behind the declaration.

She blushed, quite prettily, actually, and Anders grabbed her other hand as we both gently tugged her to a sitting position. "All right, you, enough lollygagging. Out of bed…" he started.

"Unless of course you are willing that we _**both** _should join you," I laughed.

The ghost of a smile played around her eyes. "Join me?" The way she said it, deliberately misunderstanding, I could hear the difference in the word as she teased me about my firm 'no thank you' to her previous offer to make me a Warden. "Am I to understand that there remain _no_ bodily fluids you wish to avoid now? We could get the big cup… Oghren could give you pointers on how to gargle and spit."

"Do not trouble yourself. I am not much of a Joiner, you know. Sexy tragic hero, always alone." I smirked. "I shall have to try that line at the Crown and Lion soon."

"It will make the ladies swoon," she chuckled.

"Just so, my heart…. Just so."


	36. Memory Lane

Anders was true to his word. He didn't let Solona exert herself very much – would have insisted on complete bed rest except for the mutinous look in her eyes and her quiet admission that she was uneasy that bed rest would lead to a great deal of sleep, and that much sleep would lead her deeply back into the Fade. Instead, she used the time to write letters to absent friends, catch up on official correspondence, and read after extracting a promise from Zevran that if there were TRULY something that needed her attention, she would know it whether Anders liked it or not.

Her reading was not light, as Anders may have hoped – she had taken some journals of Howe's back to her room and was poring over them, trying to get a better idea of the man's true self from his writings. He was as spare with his journals as he had been guarded about his schemes, no doubt in case someone like Solona came into possession of them. However, there was an intriguing note from two years ago…

_Highever Castle is now mine, as is the Teyrnir. The Orlesian turncoats have paid with their lives – the castle put to the sword to the youngest babe in arms. Fergus Cousland had already left for Ostagar – but soldiering is a dangerous business. With luck, the darkspawn will take care of him._

_The spitfire is nowhere to be seen. With any luck she'll be found soon._

A note two weeks later:

_Young woman and mabari spotted entering Korcari Wilds… what is left of the squad trailing her swears a dragon of all things attacked and killed all but himself. He's badly acid-burned and delirious, of course. There are no dragons in the wilds._

Solona felt her heart thud to a stop. There had been one… Flemeth. Was it possible…?

Solona scribbled a few notes. Well, Flemeth was, arguably, no longer a problem. Hopefully Anders would see the need for her to get up and out of the keep earlier rather than later. She'd see if Zev, Oghren and Anders would accompany her for a brief foray. Maybe she would find clues among the Chasind. If the girl were as clever as Solona thought, she might have tried to reach her brother in the south.

Something niggled at the back of her mind, something related to her long stay in the Fade, and Solona took a deep breath and cleared her mind so she could pay attention to what her subconscious was trying to tell her. She closed her eyes, and thought back to how she'd felt before being trapped.

She'd felt damaged. That was nothing new. She'd felt depressed and despairing. Unfortunately, that happened from time to time, especially when the worst memories of the quest for the Archdemon reared their ugly heads. She remembered fearing the intimacy that had slipped back into her life, wanting to go back to the mage who separated physical need from emotional – and knowing that Alistair had ruined her for that. After experiencing that level of intimacy, she viewed convenient trysts as… lesser. Cheaper.

She had….

Solona's eyes flew wide open. She had wished for the ability to sleep through the night without being torn awake by nightmares. And immediately after that, she had been asleep for three days with what were unquestionably pleasant dreams.

She yanked her boots on. That didn't mean that whatever it was was not dangerous. It did mean she was going to have to be very careful about wishing. And it meant that some spirit of the Fade had had its eye on her, so to speak.

Barkly raised his head and grumbled as she started to get ready to leave. And as she tried to get to the door, the mabari blocked the door with a growl.

"Whose companion are you anyway?" She tried to push Barkly aside, and he simply planted himself more firmly.

"Fiiiiine," she sighed. "I'll wait. You go get Anders. Or Zevran."

Barkly fixed her with a 'you'd BETTER be here when I get back," look, and then grumbling, moved down the hall.

For a wonder, Solona sat on her bed and waited. She fidgeted, and waited. And then she waited some more.

When she just couldn't wait any longer, she got up and opened the door, just in time to see Anders and Barkly coming up to it.

He raised and eyebrow, crossing his arms across his chest. "This does not look like resting to me," he said mildly.

"Probably because it's not," she admitted. "But I've got a theory about why I was kept in the Fade."

That got his interest, and he uncrossed his arms. "Why were you stuck in the Fade," he asked, as he guided her back into the room. Barkly grabbed the ring set into the wooden door in his teeth and with a grumble, he backed out, shutting the door behind the two mages.

Solona sat on the edge of the bed, her knees drawn up to her chin, her arms hugging them close. "Just before the Landsmeet where I put forth Alistair for the throne, I was imprisoned in Fort Drakon," she said quietly, "and they used a variety of techniques to… to try to break me." She looked up at him, tried to smile. "To dream about that, I guess I was really tired and worn down as you say… and… and wondering if I were any good to… to anyone."

He sat beside her noting her closed in, protective body language , then leaned over, and kissed her forehead, nudging her shoulder with his. He was afraid that if he tried to hold her, confine her, she'd bolt. "Never doubt that," he murmured, kissing her temple.

She blushed.

"I had a really bad nightmare where I was back there and… and Loghain had come to see me. They knew I didn't know anything worth knowing about Orlais – but…" She shook her head to clear it. "It scared me horribly to have been reminded of how bad it was, and I woke in a sweat… wishing I could sleep at least one night through without being scared to death."

"Oh. OH." He looked at her curiously. "So you're thinking a Fade spirit…"

"Or demon, I don't know. I don't trust it," she said worriedly.

"You think something gave you pleasant things to dream of and let you sleep."

She nodded mutely.

"Some spirits of the Fade are more benign than others…"

"I don't trust that. I don't trust that _any_ spirits' gifts don't come with major strings attached." She shook her head. "I don't want it to happen again, but I think… I think I can guard myself against it better now."

He nodded, and when she pur her head on his shoulder, he let his arm steal around her and held her close.

"Item two on the agenda: we need – you, Zev and Oghren and I – to head to the Korcari Wilds."


	37. We're on Our Way

Solona was right, and Howe wished she hadn't been.

Yes, the Orlesian wardens particularly could have snuck some younger wardens into Ferelden rather than send a single one near his calling. They chose not to, and delayed sending any help

Yes, the Wardens had heard of the Architect, though he had not found that information with the Wardens. He'd gotten that from a Circle Mage in Val Royeaux who had met the Architect nearly thirty years previously. Her advice had been a very very firm, "Do NOT trust him." And if what she told him were true, then he was an even bigger danger to Thedas than the mother.

Funny thing about that mage—an elf, Fiona… she had been asking after the king's health. Howe thought it might be as simple as wanting to know how the son of a man she had travelled with fared… but she seemed far more invested in it than that, somehow, despite her nonchalance.

Truly, a mystery for another day. For now, he needed to get home to Amaranthine, as quickly as possible.

* * *

"Hey, you man-skirt wearing freak," Oghren grumbled, "take yer eyes off the boss's sweet swayin' arse and stay sharp!"

Solona skidded to a halt and turned to glare at Oghren and Anders, and Zev shrugged elaborately as if to say, "Not me!"

"I would GREATLY appreciate it," she said icily, "if you could keep it down to a dull roar. Travelling through the wilds is harrowing enough; having you fighting over who is and is not watching my…. my hindquarters! is not making this easier on any of us."

"I was not staring at your rear," Anders said with as much dignity as he could. Oghren snorted.

"Oghren…"

"Look here…. If I were a delicate little mage flower I would be pissing myself right now. The last time we were here there was a sodding big dragon….."

"…and making a loud commotion is certain to draw its attention if it's still here, is it not?" She glared.

Oghren fell into a sullen silence, and she continued leading them around the edge of a lake until….

"Halt, intruders!"

Solona sighed, rolling her eyes. Why do I get that all the time, she wondered.

Out of some brush, camouflaged so well that until he stepped completely out of the leaves that he was invisible, came a Chasind archer. He glared at their little group as if he wished his looks alone could murder them.

"Hello," Solona said in her warmest, most friendly voice. "I'm Solona. It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Wait!" Another voice in the bushes, and when this Chasind revealed himself he looked somewhat… familiar.

Barkly wagged his tail uncertainly, sniffing at the dark-skinned man, then, deciding, licked his hand.

"Let her pass and be welcome," the second man said to his comrade, then turned to face Solona. "I do not know if you recall me – we… encountered each other in Lothering…."

She was glad Oghren had not been with them yet, or he might have said something insensitive like, "You're the lunatic who was screaming about Solona being tainted!" She instead said gently, "Of course I remember you. You had had a terrible shock just before we met… how have you been?"

"Well enough," he said quietly. "I thought I was seeing things – when I saw the sun reflecting off your fire hair I thought I was going mad, seeing her again…"

"I'm sorry," she said quietly.

"No, no. Not your fault." He grasped her arm in greeting. "Why are you here?"

"We seek a very cold trail," she said without preamble. "A girl, dark haired, grey-eyed. Probably with…"

"A hound, of the same breed as yours. Grey, though, instead of… that color." He nodded. "I remember her. She had come through… before."

Solona nodded. "You wouldn't happen to recall which way she headed?"

"East," he said without hesitation. "One of the junior tribesman thought she would make a fine wife – he tried to capture her. Ended up with a broken arm instead, and said she'd headed east and told him to have the sense not to follow.

Solona groaned. East meant the Brecilian Forest. She was glad they hadn't decided to bring horses – they'd be useless on this journey.

"East it is," she sighed.


	38. Mercy

_Solona walked toward the doors of the palace, outwardly calm, wearing her dragonskin armor, Spellweaver in the harness on her back. Inwardly, a different story entirely._

_She glanced over her shoulder at Alistair, and saw his face - grim, and also looking a touch green about the gills.** So he's figured it out**, she thought, schooling her features into the serene mask she'd learned to wear at the Circle.** He knows there will be two deaths in that Landsmeet, whatever happens. Loghain's, and our relationship's.**_

_He'd started to walk a little faster, trying to catch up to her at the front of their little group, but Solona had left her visor down for a reason. She pretended she could not see him approaching in her peripheral vision on her left - ridiculous, since the taint in his blood sang to the taint in hers, with a more keening and desperate note than usual._

**_Maker, give me strength._**

_And then Barkly, Andraste save him… Barkly who was a solid, tried and true war vet… Barkly, whose four feet accorded him the most amazing balance of the party… who never missed a snap or connected on a mere threat… stumbled somehow and got tangled up with Alistair. The delay as they sorted themselves was just enough for Solona to get within speaking distance of Ser Cauthrien, and his chance to catch her was mercifully lost._

_Solona barely knew what she said to Ser Cauthrien, but the woman was nearly in tears. "Never did I think my duty would be so bitter," the woman said, "but you must… for the sake of Ferelden you MUST stop him."_

_Solona nodded._

_"Please… please. If you can, be merciful. Without him, there wouldn't have been a Ferelden to save."_

_Solona moved past in silence, through the doors, pushing past nobles. There were gasps as their motley crew: a dwarf, a qunari, an elf, a golem, and human warrior, mages and a pretty little slip of a girl who could only be a rogue walked in. The mabari heeled properly now, looking neither left nor right as they moved into the chamber._

_"And here is the puppeteer!" Loghain bellowed as she came to him.** What a laugh. I've been the one on the strings since the beginning, **she thought. **Imprisoned as a mage, conscripted against my will, forced to raise an army and to decide matters that cost some their lives and livelihoods, and set others above their station… I've been dancing to the archdemon's and Ferelden's tune since the day I was born.**_

_She spoke quietly of his betrayal of Cailan, the Blight being the priority, his creature, Howe, the slavery in the Alienage, and his poisoning of Eamon, interference with a Templar in his sacred duty. Each damning declaration was backed by a Bann demanding answers, and retribution, and when it was over, he stood defiant, without the backing of the Landsmeet but still unwilling to step down and raging at his peers about how they had no right to judge him._

_"Come, Teyrn Loghain," she said politely, her soft voice rippling out over the sudden silence. "You speak of foreigners taking over but I am a good Ferelden, born and bred, as is Alistair. It is time to step aside. You do not have sufficient support. Must our men spill **more** Ferelden blood, further weakening our chance against the archdemon? Can we not settle this honorably?"_

_Bann Alfstanna stood. "It may be resolved in the traditional manner: a duel, until one yields. The Landsmeet will follow whomever wins the contest."_

_Loghain studied Solana - her slight frame, her youth… and murmured quietly, so only she could hear, "Do you truly wish to die, young Amell? Not long since you were… detained, at Fort Drakon. Surely your lack of skill and… the briefness of your recovery put you at a grave disadvantage."_

_She closed her eyes for a moment, then looked at him, standing tall. "Your Lordship… it is entirely in the Maker's hands now - and that of his bride, Andraste."_

_"You can ask for one of your fellows to be your champion," he urged._

_"No, my Lord, I cannot."_

_He took a step forward, grabbed her by the arm, and hissed. "I do not wish to kill a mere child."_

_"Then **you should not have made war on her**," she replied, shaking free and stepping back. "I read the histories… I always dreamed I would fight at the **side **of the Hero of the River Dane…" She shook her head. "Foolish. Foolish dreams of a star-struck child. Now, ser, we dance."_

_Solona drew gasps from one and all when she dodged Loghain's first rush, dancing lightly out of his way while drawing Spellweaver. The look of surprise and the gasps from the assembled banns hardly rippled across her consciousness as she studied him, really watched, as she circled him._

_She wasn't sure who was more surprised - Loghain himself or the banns, when after a flurry of blows traded between then, she knocked him back with the flat of her blade while casting lightning._

_He'd come at her, bellowing like a bull, and his blow had taken her off her feet and slammed her into the wall. She'd felt several ribs break, and had barely gotten to her feet when he swung and the tip of his sword tore through the armor and sliced her just above the hipbones._

_"Solona, no!" Alistair had cried, and would have rushed to her had Sten not kept a firm grip on his arm._

_Solona pulled her left arm across her belly, hard, feeling the blood flow over her armor, and somehow kept her feet. She would have to end this NOW, or she would die and so would Alistair - executed to prevent any possibility of a future uprising._

**_Maker help me._**

_Solona screamed in agony and in rage, and charged. As he came to meet her, she caught a glimpse of something in his ice-blue eyes, just as her shoulder somehow managed to get under his guard and catch him in the chest._

_The man was **tired**. Tired of fighting… tired of what he'd become… tired of the horrible things he had done in the name of his beloved Ferelden. She could read the weariness as he moved just a tad too slow and let her slam him to the ground… knew if she used magic now, she'd be strung up as a blood mage….. put her sword to his throat and held it there, trembling, raising a bright red bead of blood from his adam's apple._

_"I underestimated you, Warden," he said, breathing hard while she held herself together. "I thought you were like Cailan… a child playing at war…"_

_She lowered the sword a bit, stepped back, letting him regain his feet. "I yield to you, Grey Warden," he said with quiet dignity.  
_

_Riordan and Anora had interrupted then, saying Loghain's death was not necessary, that he could be bound to the Grey Wardens…._

_Alistair had made an impassioned speech about justice, and the deaths Loghain was reponsible for._

_Solona listened to none of them, concentrating on remaining upright and conscious. Her eyes were locked on Loghain's._

_"Just make it quick, Warden," he said calmly, giving her the slightest of nods. "I can face the Maker knowing that Ferelden is safe in your hands."_

_She nodded back, feeling a surge of respect and sorrow for the man, and in two quick steps…. it was over._

* * *

Solona stood ankle-deep in the lake, breeches rolled up to her knees, lifting her shirt and looking at her reflection as she ran her fingers over the white scar that stretched from hip to hip. That dragonskin armor had been a loss after that duel… fortunately, it had held together enough to keep her insides where they needed to be until the healers could put her back together… She feared that that guest bedrooms' linens and mattress had been ruined for good.

"You are thinking of _him_ again, aren't you?"

Solona turned, dropping her shirt, to see Anders standing on the shore, leaning against a tree.

"Sorry?"

"Alistair. The ogre in the room. It's all right…."

"Actually, no, I _wasn't_ thinking about him," she said, a little irritated.

"No? My mistake." He came up behind her and nuzzled her ear. "What were you thinking about?"

"Mercy," she said quietly.


	39. If I Had One Wish

The lead to the Brecilian Forest had gone bust. Solona and her team had found nothing of import themselves, and questioning the Dalish clan that was there now had not proved at all useful. The clan she'd met years ago had made the trip across the sea to the Free Marches, and no one knew when or even _if_ they would return. She turned her patrol and they were headed back north to the Keep, none the worse for wear but for wasting a week camping in the woods.

"The only thing I can think is maybe she took a ship and headed out to the Free Marches too," Solona said, sitting beside the campfire and making her infamous rabbit stew. "That is, if she didn't die two years ago."

"What, you're giving up?" Oghren snorted. "The woman who does six impossible things before breakfast every day?"

Solona snorted. "Hardly," she said. "Maybe one impossible thing a _lifetime_."

"Don't underestimate yerself. "Oghren chuckled. "You keep US in line, don't'cha?"

* * *

Several hours later, Solona was taking the first watch when she felt someone slip up and sit beside her. She turned to see Zevran very close indeed.

"Can't sleep?" she asked quietly.

"It's too quiet out here," he said lightly. "Not enough singing… not enough arguing… and certainly not enough loud, lusty, sweaty sex."

"Heh." She blushed, knowing full well that he was referring to her prior relationship with Alistair. "So you, uh, miss not having sleepless nights?"

"Perhaps. Perhaps we all lived vicariously through your enthusiastic nightly exertions."

She giggled. "Oh lord, that time you decided to give Alistair advice about his sex life."

"You heard that, did you?" Zevran looked surprised and amused.

"I heard EVERYTHING you guys said whenever we were walking around… or did you think that just because I was walking out front I had become deaf?" She shook her head. "I'm surprised he didn't swallow his tongue when you mentioned how brief, in your opinion, one of our trysts had been."

"My dear, I think he did." Zevran stroked her spine, making her arch it in reflex. "I recall suggesting that he arch his back just so…."

Solona blushed. "He did, you know. Listen, I mean."

Zevran laughed. "You are most welcome, then, my dear."

She giggled a bit, then sobered, looking into the fire. He could sense that she was very far away now.

"Zev?"

"Dear heart?"

"Did you ever wonder what would happen if there were…. one thing you could do over?"

The Antivan elf gave her a wry smile. "Only _one_ thing?"

She nodded.

"What would you do differently, my dear Warden?" he asked lightly.

Solona thought a moment. "If I chose to be selfish… I would never have forced Alistair to take the throne. I'd have kept him a Warden and kept him with me."

"And if you had chosen _not_ to be selfish?"

This took longer for her to consider, and when she spoke, she spoke slowly. "I think I would have compelled Loghain to live as a Grey Warden." She looked troubled. "Sometimes I wonder if it was less _justice_ and more _revenge_ that led to my being his executioner. Other days… other days I think maybe it was a great relief to him, and that if I were just I'd have made him atone." She shook herself mentally, and straightened, looking into the fire a while, as if trying to scry in the flames what her next move should be.

After a few minutes of uncomfortably quiet contemplation, she turned back toward Zevran. "So, if you had the chance to change one thing in your p—"

As she turned to face him, she felt his fingers gently caress her cheek and chin, gently guiding her face toward him, and before she could react, she felt his lips find hers.

Solona trembled, her heart pounding as he deepened the kiss slowly, gently, brushing her hair back behind her ears. There was something very sweet, very gentle about the slow and deliberate way he nibbled at her lips, brushing his tongue gently against her lower lip, stroking her hair as he pressed harder against her until they both were breathless. And then, very gently, he broke the kiss.

He sat back on his heels, studying her with those impossibly warm honey colored eyes, as she put a shaking hand to her lips, her eyes suddenly too bright. He gave her a slight shrug and a wistful smile. "That, my dear heart, is what I would have changed if I had it all to do over."

Solona scrambled to her feet, her fingers still pressed against her lips, her face flushed. Surprise warred with sorrow – and with attraction – and suddenly with a choked, "I'm sorry…" she whirled and disappeared past the fire and into the brush.


	40. Getting Sorted

Sigrun trotted up to Solona's side as they headed back to Vigil's Keep. She couldn't help noticing that the commander was unusually quiet since they'd gotten up today… and she looked very tired. More tired, in fact, than simply sitting up at the fire to make sure nothing crept up on the little patrol should have made her.

She also noticed that Anders seemed puzzled by it, but that he appeared to be giving her some space to work out whatever it was that was bothering her. He and Oghren were trading insults as usual – a good thing, since it kept her fellow dwarf from hitting on her.

Zevran was chatty as ever, stopping to pass the time with Sigrun and with Anders and Oghren, although he did occasionally disappear to scout ahead. He traded a few quips with their fearless leader as well, but she seemed a bit distant with him as well.

"All right, Commander, I thought _I _was the one who was supposed to be grim and forboding," Sigrun teased.

Solona shortened her stride some to accommodate Sigrun, shrugging nonchalantly. "You do an amazing job of it," she said quietly. "Always as silent as the grave."

"I know!" Sigrun grinned. "The way I just grunt at you all…. All gloom and doom, and woe, woe, woe!"

Solona turned to look at the grinning dwarf. "OK," she sighed, "what?"

Sigrun looked at her with cheeky innocence. "What? I can't just come chat with the only other woman in the group? I mean it's ok, but sometimes, you know, the male dominance and instinctive displays of 'me good mate' get a little much, don't'cha think?

"You're getting at something."

"What, me? Naw…. But it is kinda weird that you've barely looked at or talked to any of us today." Sigrun nudged her companionably with her shoulder as they walked. "Any of the men-folk need gelding?"

"Maker, no!" Solona's reaction was swift, and she looked down to see Sigrun grinning impishly. It was hard to tell when the legionnaire was serious. Thankfully, Solona could see, this time wasn't one of them.

"So… what? Moody 'cos you and Anders haven't had any, er, 'alone time'?"

Solona sighed, and shook her head. "Please, Sigrun, leave it. I have a lot on my mind, is all… I need to figure out where else Elissa Cousland may have ended up…"

"Liar," Sigrun said cheerfully, "but for the sake of harmony I'll pretend I believe you and go walk over there."

* * *

Nathaniel Howe woke at his campsite in the countryside of Orlais with a grey Mabari sitting on his chest pinning him to the ground, and a dagger to his throat. He did not move – just opened his eyes.

"You." At first he didn't recognize the woman, since she was leaning over him, upside down. She was in neatly repaired green and brown studded leather armor, her hair hacked raggedly short, and wearing fingerless studded brown leather gloves. There was a delicate silver chain dipping below the breastplate of the armor. Her boots were moss green and up to her thighs, strapped tight and studded as well, over tight brown leather leggings, and the dagger was a very good silverite dagger, wickedly sharp. Her grey eyes were dark and angry.

He looked at her and frowned, then suddenly his eyes widened in recognition. "Elissa?"

The dagger pressed a little more deeply against his throat… still not breaking skin, but he could feel the edge biting in. "Give me one reason I shouldn't cut your throat right now."

He blinked. "I never did you harm, Elissa – I found out about what my father did to your family when I arrived in Ferelden from the Free Marches four months ago. You remember he sent me away for eight years to be a squire, don't you?" He swallowed. "And as it happens… my father was executed for his crimes, and Vigil's Keep confiscated. My family, pariahs… and the Grey Wardens are now ensconced in my home." He swallowed. "And… your brother, Fergus… he is the new Teyrnir of Highever. And he has asked us—"

"Asked a HOWE?" she growled, and he felt the blood begin to trickle down his throat.

"No. Asked _the Grey Wardens_. He is looking for you."

"You. A _Grey Warden_." There was a long, uncomfortable silence, and he cleared his throat gently.

Some signal must have passed between the girl and the dog, for the mabari backed off of him, still growling quietly. He did not offer to move.

"If you even look like you're making a move for me, Scout will have your throat out." She removed the dagger from his throat, and backed away. He saw she had placed herself between him and his weapons.

"Elissa…"

"I don't want to hear it Nate – Nathaniel." The hitch in her voice as she used his nickname, then caught herself, gave him a little hope he might actually survive this encounter. He groaned as she pulled some cord from a pouch on her waist. "Get up."

"Elissa," he said reasonably, "travel is dangerous. Two who can defend themselves are better than one."

"Scout and I are two, and we'll hear the truth from Fergus' lips – if he is alive, as you claim. If not, we can as easily cut your throat at Highever… a certain poetic justice and symmetry there." She nodded. "Hands behind your back."

"Elissa, please." He couldn't reconcile this grim, slate-eyed rogue with the beautiful youngest child of Bryce Cousland.

She glared, and Scout stepped forward, menacing snarls ripping from his throat.

Sighing, Howe put his wrists behind himself and let her bind him.

* * *

"So?" Anders prompted as he walked beside Solona.

She looked up at him, and a smile broke out across her face, though her eyes still seemed rather pensive. "Hey," she said.

"You've been very quiet."

"Yes," she agreed.

He looked at her, a little perturbed that she left it at that. "Any reason in particular?"

She realized that she'd given a very Sten-like answer, and remembered how it had driven her mad, at first, to talk to the Quanari. Rather than subject Anders to that, she simply shrugged and said,"I just have a lot on my mind, is all."

"Anything I can help with?"

She glanced over at him, and took his hand quietly as they walked side by side. "I think you already are," she said, giving his fingers a gentle squeeze.

He squeezed her fingers back, and smiled to himself.


	41. Some balls are held for charity

It was on the next day that the bandits attacked.

Elissa hadn't wasted any time – the moment the outlaws charged, she'd stepped behind Howe and cut the thong binding his hands together, shoving his daggers into his hands.

Bryce Cousland had certainly seen to her education in arms; the rest, he had no doubt, was the result of living on her own in the wilderness for a year and a half. Elissa Cousland was nearly as accurate as Howe was, and perhaps even a shade faster. Between the three of them, she, the Mabari, and Howe had slain their attackers.

After the fight, Howe wordlessly walked over to Elissa and crossed his wrists in front of himself, waiting for her to bind him again. Instead she made an impatient, disgusted sound in the back of her throat and shoved his bow and quiver at him.

* * *

_Nathaniel Howe stood in the ballroom at the royal palace, looking and feeling uncomfortable. He was in disgrace with his father gain – but then, when was he ever NOT in disgrace? And so he stood, nineteen years old, in uncomfortable clothes, trying to ignore the girls who were giggling and looking his way. He'd found them one and all to be tedious and insipid creatures, all too happy to talk about their favorite subjects: themselves, their wealth, and who they wanted to marry._

_He groaned as he saw his father escorting the youngest Cousland toward him. She was three years his junior, and he couldn't look at her without seeing her as he had on many holiday visits to Highever - in pigtails and skinned knees. He had to admit, she was pretty with her wavy brown hair and striking grey eyes, and the deep blue dress she wore really did suit her._

"_Nathaniel, you remember Elissa Cousland," Rendon Howe said._

_Nathaniel sighed inwardly, but his mother had trained him well. He bowed slightly to the young girl. "Of course. A pleasure to see you again, my lady." He took her hand and kissed the back of it gently._

"_Charmed," she said, blushing prettily enough, as he elder Howe left her in his son's company._

_The moment they were alone, she'd leaned forward, and it was all Nathaniel could do not to recoil. He didn't want some giggly girl hanging all over him all evening._

"_I hate these things, don't you?" she'd whispered fervently. "I feel like someone's prize mabari on display."_

_Nathaniel had been so surprised by her that he'd laughed aloud. "Lady Cousland, I know what you mean," he smiled._

_She'd looked up at him, a mischievous smile on her face. "What say we have one dance, just so everyone sees us together… and then escape?"_

_He frowned. "To the rose garden?" It was an infamous choice for young ladies and gentlemen who wished to get to know each other – perhaps _improperly_ so._

"_I'd prefer the stables, to be honest, or the practice yard." She looked down at her dress. "Though perhaps this isn't the best choice of dress for that kind of adventure."_

"_I'd say the kennels, but one of the bitches whelped about six weeks ago, and there's the danger of imprinting a pup accidentally," Nathaniel offered._

_Elissa shrugged. "Maybe we could go feed the ducks and swans at the pond?"_

_Nathaniel nodded. "Perfect. Let's have our dance, then I'll go liberate some rolls from the kitchen. Meet me by the kitchens garden."_

* * *

_As they tore chunks of bread to toss to the birds, Nathaniel couldn't help but ask, "So what would you _prefer_ to be doing, since neither of us likes dancing?"_

"_Shooting at archery targets," she said without hesitation, and he grinned._

"_Would you like me to teach you?" he asked, and was met with a decidedly unladylike snort. _

"_My mother has trained me, thank you very much," she said, and he remembered that Eleanor Cousland was, indeed, a very accomplished archer who'd fought in the Orlesian occupation. He was surprised she'd taught her daughter the skill – given that at every social function he could recall, Elissa had been presented to some noble son or other. Girls accomplished at arms were not highly sought after – although he, himself, could see the use of it._

"_Well, then, you won't mind showing your skill," he teased._

"_Certainly." And she'd stalked off toward the archery lanes immediately._

_He had beaten her that day, but it had been very close, and she was good-natured about it even as she was competitive. "Next time," she'd laughed, "you'll never see me coming."_

_She just looked so beautiful and mischievous that he couldn't help leaning forward and gently brushing a kiss against her cheek… and was surprised when, as he began to pull away, she turned her head slightly and kissed him lightly on the lips._

"_Elissa…"_

_She'd blushed then, and looked away, afraid she'd offended. "Sorry."_

_He'd smiled then, and given her his arm to walk back inside. "Don't be… but you really must be more careful… supposing the man you kissed like that weren't a gentleman?"_

"_You're a gentleman," she'd said, frowning._

"_Because of my birth, you mean?" He shook his head. "There are plenty of nobles I wouldn't trust with Delilah's safety – or yours. What would you do if someone decided to take liberties?"_

"_I would knee him in the balls," she said decidedly, "and while he was trying to catch his breath, I'd run."_

_He could feel his jaw drop open. "Well, you're certainly a direct little thing – who taught you that?!"_

"_Fergus did," she said, and Nathaniel believed it. "He's shown me a dozen ways to break away from someone who wants to hold me."_

"_A word of advice, my lady," he said with a laugh. "You'd probably be better off saying you would knee a man in the privates or in the nethers. Only the coarsest kind of wenches use the term you just did." _


	42. Water Sports

"So I take it you've decided to trust me?" Nathaniel Howe asked the grim beauty stalking a few feet away from his left side. She reminded him of a hunting cat – lithe, noiseless, and dangerous.

Scout, her grey mabari, grumbled suspiciously behind him.

"I've decided that it will do no good to have you killed by bandits before we reach Highever," she said grudgingly, "and if you try an-"

"…anything, Scout will have my throat out, yes, I know."

Elissa Cousland stole a look to her left. When last she'd seen Nathaniel Howe, they were both a few years out of childhood. Now, as she looked at him, she could see what eight years of training as a squire had done for him. He was leaner than her brother had been the last time she'd seen him, but Nathaniel clearly was extremely well toned under his leather armor. His arms particularly were well-developed – probably from all the practice with his bow. His hair he braided back in a style that left it long but kept it from his eyes.

She couldn't believe that at one time, there had been discussion – serious discussion, actually – to betroth her to a Howe. When the topic of Thomas, the younger brother whom Rendon Howe actually intended to leave the arling, came up, Elissa had made his objections to that known to her parents. She'd made her preference for the elder Nathaniel known, and not long after, he disappeared to the Free Marches. She shot a glare at him, and as he turned, his eyes questioning, she blurted, "Was it your idea or your father's, going to squire in the Marches?"

"What?" The sudden change of subject caught him flat-footed.

She stopped, turned. "Did you _leave_ of your own volition, or were you _sent_?"

Howe stopped as well, frowning. "I can't see that it makes any difference…"

"It does. To me. Why can't you just answer the sodding question?"

He shrugged. "I was sent."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that."

"Do you remember why, exactly?"

He closed his eyes a moment, exhaled noisily. "Does it matter, Leece?"

Her eyes narrowed. "No, I suppose not."

* * *

_Elissa had emerged from the caves that led out to her little hidden cove a bit north of Castle Cousland. The passage through the caves was convoluted enough that she felt as if it were her private swimming hole._

_She'd stripped down quickly, leaving her clothes above the high water mark, and entered the warm, gentle waves in her small clothes. She'd been swimming since the age of four, so she was as agile as a seal as she dove and swam._

_It wasn't until she heard another body splash into the water that she realized she was not alone._

_She came up, slinging her hair back over her shoulders in time to see Nathaniel Howe breaking the surface from his dive. She yelped and tread water where she was, her face burning. "Nate!"_

"_Oh, hullo, Leece. Fancy meeting you here." He smirked at her, swimming parallel to the shore with sure, strong strokes – blocking her from fleeing. "Imagine how crushed I was to get up this morning and find that my day was completely open and no one to share it with." He sighed, theatrically sad. "And you're supposed to be my host…."_

_She didn't know where to look. She hoped to the Maker he was wearing his smalls. "I, uh, I didn't know you'd like to, uh, swim."_

"_Amaranthine _**is**_ a port city, Leece. Of course, if you were a good hostess you'd have asked instead of sneaking off…." He took a breath, disappeared below the waves._

"_Nate? Nate?!"_

_The next thing she knew, she was being bodily lifted out of the water and tossed a few feet away. She shrieked as she splashed down, and got up spluttering… to see him grinning at her._

_She dove under the water, coming up behind him in one swift push, and tickled his ribs, doubling him over before she swam away again. They kept attacking and counterattacking each other, splashing and tickling and tugging each other under until they both were laughing fit to burst._

_Elissa had come up behind Nathaniel to duck him again, but as she broke the surface, her hands on his shoulders to push him under, he twisted, slippery as an eel, and caught her in his arms._

"_Oh!" Elissa had gasped, pulled tightly against his broad chest, his toned thighs. And yes… he was wearing his smallclothes… for all the difference it made. She rested her hands on his shoulders, her eyes wide, nearly nose to nose with him._

_Nathaniel never expected to have caught Elissa like that, but now that she was enfolded in his arms, her soft, sleek, warm skin pressed against him, he froze. He could feel her small, firm breasts bound in their band, pressed up against his chest, and he could simply fall into her wide grey eyes and lose himself forever._

_Treading water made them brush against each other, and the sensation made both their hearts pound._

"_Elissa," Nathaniel grated, his voice unsteady._

_Her answer was to tip her head to the left and give him a heated, devouring kiss._

_He moaned into her mouth, and kissed her back hard, crushing her to himself, and they both got a ducking and a nose full of water as they stopped treading water and slipped below the surface. Spluttering and laughing, they slogged out of the water, hand in hand._

_Once on the beach, Elissa had pressed up against Nathaniel again, standing on tiptoe to reach his mouth again. He'd backed against some rocks, and Elissa had thrown her arms around his neck, planting soft little kisses along his collarbone, the side of his neck, his chest until she'd nearly driven him mad. _

_It was, of course, when he'd groaned and pulled her tightly against himself, his tongue dueling with hers, his hands kneading her perfectly proportioned derriere that they'd heard the strangled growl and broken the kiss just in time for Fergus to yank Elissa away by the arm._

_The resulting scene had not been pretty, and had ended with Elissa storming back through the cave system with her riding clothes thrown on haphazardly, and Fergus and Nathaniel both following her, Fergus with a bloody nose and split lip, and Nathaniel with a hell of a shiner and a swollen cheek._


	43. Trust

Nathaniel sat up, back against a tree, his bow strung and sitting across his lap. A few feet away, Elissa lay asleep in her bedroll, her head pillowed on her pack. Scout lay curled up at her back, the huge dog's ears and nose twitching even in sleep.

Asleep, she looked more like the noblewoman he'd known years ago – the hard, angry crows feet around her eyes and the tight, hard line of her compressed lips smoothed out. But even in sleep, he could tell – that essential innocence, the playfulness that had driven him to distraction, had been ruthlessly destroyed. The woman sleeping beside him was no delicate child of privilege; she'd been transformed into a mercenary at best, and he suspected perhaps a bandit from time to time.

"Stop staring at me."

He startled a little as she rolled over and pushed up into a sitting position, Scout still against her back. She resettled her cloak around her so that the mabari behind her was enveloped in the cloak as well – an effective way to keep warm.

"I wasn't staring," he said quietly.

She sat, her knees pulled in to her chest. "Why did you come back into my life, Nate?"

He snorted. "I rather think _you_ came back into _mine_. Did I not wake with your dagger at my throat?"

She waved that off impatiently, looking at him with her unsettlingly sharp eyes. "Fergus really is waiting for us back in Highever." It was a statement, but he could hear the question in it.

"He really is, Elissa." He pulled his cloak more closely about him, now that she was awake too, trying to get warm. "Why didn't you come back to Ferelden?" he asked quietly.

"What was there for me to return to?" she asked, and he saw the tough façade crack a little. "Your father betrayed us – brought his men with him into our castle on the pretext of leaving with my father to ride to Ostagar. Actually lied to my father, in my presence, about how good it would be to ride with him again. In the dead of night, the men we billeted for him rose up and slaughtered everyone in the keep – my nephew was seven, Nate. _Seven_. They killed the soldiers, they killed the knights, they raped and killed my sister in law and the female servants. I watched my father die from a gut wound and I had to be driven through the secret passage out of the keep by my mother and Scout. And mother stayed to cover my escape…" She took a hard, shuddering breath.

"Leece…" He started to get up.

"Don't," she said sharply, and he could hear the tears threatening. "Just…. Just don't."

He settled back down.

"Then I headed to Ostagar… but by the time I found my way there…" She shook her head. "So where was there for me to go, Nate? My home was given to your father as a reward… my father's title, too…. Where should I have gone, when all around me, all I saw were daggers and eyes narrowed in greed? I wasn't even worth capturing and forcing into a marriage for the Teyrnir… it would have been rape and death, if I were lucky…"

Scout raised his head with a whine and shoved his nose into her hands.

"…and since I had no intention of being anyone's whore, I left."

"You didn't think the Guerrins would have shielded you…?"

"Who could I trust?" she spat. "_My father's oldest friend, who spoke of the possibility of a marriage alliance mere hours before.…_" She got up and turned her back on him, arms crossed tight across her chest, holding the cloak close. Her shoulders were shaking, and Scout whined and leaned against her.

"So… you became a mercenary."

She nodded.

"But the war…"

"And who do you think I was in contact with?" she demanded, her voice thick and halting. "How could I know – I didn't know until you said something that _Fergus was even alive!_"

Nathaniel nodded thoughtfully, giving her a chance to compose herself. So at least _some_ part of her trusted him. "Well… if you're up, maybe we should get a move on."

* * *

Solona was sitting in her office, pinching the bridge of her nose as she sorted through paperwork. _Maybe Kirkwall, across the Waking Sea. Maybe Orlais? Talk about trying to find a needle in a haystack. Poor girl's probably dead in a ditch somewhere, though…._

There was a knock at the door, and Solona looked up. The door was open – she'd left it that way so her wardens would feel comfortable about coming to her with their problems and suggestions.

Zevran stood at the door.

That was a surprise to Solona. Normally, Zev simply appeared next to her. She stood, uncertain now that the rules seemed to have changed and he was standing on ceremony. "Zev?"

He seemed to relax a fraction, and asked very seriously, "May I come in?"

"Yes, of course," she said, feeling a bit awkward and apprehensive. He was acting so strangely – opposite his normally flirtatious and in-your-personal-space way.

"Solona…."

She took him by the hand, drew him into the room, and shut the door. "Ok, Zev, you're officially scaring me." She leaned against her desk, her blue eyes searching his golden ones.

"Scaring…" He frowned. "Do you think I mean you harm?"

"Zev, I don't think I have ever heard you call me _by my name_ before."


	44. What now?

Solona waited a moment, watching Zevran as he simply stood before before her silently. He was acting so strangely since their kiss – well, to be fair, the both of them had been acting strangely. She'd pretty much avoided everyone, stuck in her own musings, and _he'd_ just knocked on her open door, waited to be invited in, and had just addressed her as, "Solona." Not "my dear warden-commander," not "dear heart," not "deadliest of sex goddesses," not "my dearest one", but for the first time, "Solona." After the silence became a little uncomfortable, shen prodded gently, "What is it?"

"I… perhaps I misstepped the other day," he said quietly.

She moved closer, touched his arm, noticed that it seemed to make him relax a little. "You surprised me, certainly," she said carefully. "I think I could have reacted better. I _know_ I should have reacted better."

He sighed. "Was it such a great surprise?"

She nodded to herself, and on a long exhale she said, "And yet, it really shouldn't have been." She gave him a wry half-smile. "Darkspawn, I can spot from miles away. Obvious things like attractive males actually showing _interest_ in me…."

"So I am too subtle, is what you're saying?" he said, a bit of the teasing creeping back into his behavior.

"I think I was so busy being charmed and amused by your outrageous flirting that I didn't realize there was something more substantial behind it. And for that, I _am_ truly sorry."

"So you're not offended?"

"No… just terribly awkward and embarrassed." She smiled. "Are we ok?"

"I suppose so… until Anders wonders what it is we're doing all this time behind closed doors." He gave her a wink, and said, "Of course, we _could_ remove all doubts entirely either by making loud passionate love on your desk and making sure we're heard from the top of the keep to the deepest dungeons, or by you and I merely going through the motions, so to speak, and putting on a performance to shame the most jaded whore in Denerim. That would not be my first choice, however; I vastly prefer _actual_ performance to simulated, no?" He crossed his arms, and said, leaning against the door. "Of course, either of those might make our healer friend jealous, and dodging lightning bolts has never been a _particular_ favorite hobby of mine."

There was a knock at the door, and when Zev reached behind himself, still leaning on the doorframe, and opened it, Anders and Barkly were standing there. Barkly cocked his head and whined.

"Sorry, am I interrupting?" Anders asked cautiously. "The mabari practically dragged me away from breakfast…."

Barkly barked once, sharply. He looked from Zev to his Lady to Anders and sat down, looking confused.

"There is," Zevran said, tapping his index finger against his chin thoughtfully, "a third choice, if all are amenable."

Solona started shaking her head almost before it dawned on her what he meant. "Not that it doesn't intrigue me but…. No, thank you, Zev…."

"Truly?" He gave her a mischievous grin. "I don't recall your being so… how shall we say, _repressed_ back at the Pearl? _I _seem to remember your being very interested in the possibilities that may have… arisen… when you, Alistair, Isabella and I considered having our little fling."

Anders crossed his arms, waiting to see her reaction. The slow blush was intriguing, to be sure.

"As a mage fresh from the tower… I may well have taken you up on the offer, Zev," she said quietly, "though I can't speak for Anders, of course. It… sex was a game, then… and to be able to play it without Templars interfering would have been great fun…. But…." She trailed off. "I couldn't ask Alistair to do that then…." She shrugged elaborately.

"You could ask me," Anders said, his face and voice carefully neutral. She searched his face, but whatever his true feelings, they were carefully masked.

She shrugged. "I'm… a different person now," she said very quietly. "And I worry that our personal business may interfere with Keep business." She looked at Anders and Zev carefully. "I… I won't say we can't ever have a discussion about this again, but for now…"

* * *

Nate and Elissa were now within sight of the crenellations of Highever Castle. They had been walking together in silence this morning – and the week of travel had passed more or less peacefully. With Nathaniel around, Elissa had opted this morning to take a full, actual bath in the river, and while he'd been watching both banks to make sure they were not surprised, he'd noticed a wicked scar across her back, from left shoulder to opposite hip, that must have been a horrifying injury when fresh. He'd also noticed, now that Scout deigned to let him sometimes remove burrs from his fur, that there were scars under the fur. The nearly three years she had been on the run clearly had not been easy.

"Would you prefer I leave you here, or that I escort you to the castle itself?" Nathaniel asked.

Elissa shot him a glance. "And how would I slit your throat in the courtyard were I to find you were lying?" she asked, but her stance, her eyes, and her tone all seemed to say that she was no longer serious about the idea.

"Would you even get the chance? Seems your brother was put out with me the last time we met – and that was long before my father showed his true colors."

Elissa's laugh was harsh. "Yes, well, he didn't take kindly to you corrupting me – and refused to believe it when I told him it was _I _who'd tried to take advantage of _you_." She looked away, stiff and tense. "Such a stupid thing for him to have gotten upset about… two people taking pleasure in each other's company."

The meeting twenty minutes later was less stressful than it might have been. Scout's head had whipped up and he had started dancing and barking like a lunatic, and after a minute or so of this racket, someone had slipped out of the castle's main doors.

"Fergus…." Elissa had breathed, looking up the endless steps at her older brother.

"El…. Elissa?" he'd stammered.

The last of the Couslands charged at each other and met at the bottom of the stairs, nearly knocking each other over with the ferocious hugs and leaping-into-arms… as the mabari barked himself into a joyous frenzy, the siblings held each other tightly and cried.

Nathaniel took a few small steps back, trying to leave them to their reunion. He knew neither Cousland would like to be seen in tears, and he had nearly been to the gates when a pair of guards stopped him.

"Howe." Fergus Cousland had noticed him, and stepping around Elissa started to walk toward him, picking up speed.

Nathaniel stood still, waiting for him, and just as Fergus reached him, grabbing for the hilt of his dagger, Elissa was there, standing between them, a hand on Fergus' chest, the other on Nate's arm.

"He brought me home, Fergus," she said quietly. "I didn't even know you were here – alive. He brought me home."


	45. Sleepless in Ferelden

Solona rolled over restlessly, trying to find a position comfortable enough to fall asleep. Nathaniel was several days overdue, amongst the myriad of other worries that kept her up at night.

There was a resigned sigh beside her, and she felt Anders snuggle behind her, rubbing her back in slow, soothing circles. "Lona, either we can talk about what's bothering you… or I can go back to the dorm for the night. Otherwise, neither of us is going to be worth a damn in the morning."

She sighed, and sat up. "Ok, give me a moment to light the lantern…."

The moment she raised the glass chimney, a spark of flame leaped to the wick, and she looked over her shoulder to see Anders sitting up as well, a flame dancing at the ends of his fingers. She lowered the glass chimney, giving Anders an "I could have done it" look.

He waited patiently while she composed herself, sitting up crosslegged beside him, hugging her pillow. "You were right. Zevran _does_ like me a great deal more than I thought."

He nodded. "How did you finally come to realize this?"

She met his eyes. "Coming back from the Brecilian Forest, when I was on watch, he came to join me. I asked if there were one thing he could change from his past, what would it be. He told me."

"And it was…."

"He kissed me."

He simply digested this, and she recognized the same mask she'd seen earlier – completely blank neutrality.

"Maker above, Anders, say something."

He was a quiet for a while. "I don't know what you want me to say."

Ser Pounce-a-lot had jumped up onto the bed now that his humans were awake, and toddled over to Solona, crawling into her lap and rubbing his head against her.

She looked away from Anders, staring at the flame in the oil lamp. "He took me by surprise – though it shouldn't have. You'd warned me before. And…"

"You don't have to tell me this," Anders said, a little sharply.

She looked back at him, closed her eyes. He was getting up now, and her chest felt heavy and tight. "I got up and left. I told him I was sorry."

Anders reached over, picked up Pounce, and put him on his shoulder after having hastily thrown on a robe. "We'll talk about this in the morning. Right now… I really need sleep."

Pounce miaowed loudly and hopped back down onto the bed, and Anders sighed, then quietly left the room.

Solona carefully put out the lamp and rolled over onto her side. Pounce miaowed and curled up just behind her neck, and after a minute or two, Barkly eased his bulk up onto the bed and curled against Solona's back, whining softly and licking her hand. Occasionally, his mistress shuddered, and he was quite sure that she wasn't getting any kind of sleep.

* * *

It had been an uncomfortable afternoon in Castle Cousland. Everywhere Nathaniel looked, he saw damage that could only have come as a result of his father's treachery and the sacking of the castle. Teyrn Fergus Cousland was cool and clearly wished Howe were in the Fade; the newly returned prodigal daughter, the rogue Lady Elissa was the voice of reason. It was she who'd pointed out that he could not make it back to Amaranthine before sundown, and at any rate, as their guest, he should have a room, a bath, and a meal before being forced back onto the road.

Fergus probably didn't give a good fart in the wind about being a good host, but clearly he adored his sister and was loathe to upset her.

After a very quiet dinner, Nathaniel had been relieved to excuse himself and retreat to a guest room. Sleeping in a bed would be better than on the ground, he reasoned, and he would get up early and get out of here as soon as humanly possible.

He _really_ wished he were back at the Vigil.

He'd happily immersed himself in the hot bath the servants had drawn for him, scrubbing the dirt and sweat and grime of the road off of himself. Having nothing but a clean set of clothes to change into for the walk home tomorrow, he crawled into bed in his smallclothes and fell asleep almost immediately.

He awoke abruptly to find an armful of girl pressed against him; it was not normally something he'd find unpleasant but it certainly was a surprise. More shocking still was when he realized that it was not simply some forward servant girl come to warm his bed, but Elissa Cousland herself.

"Leece, what are you doing?" he murmured, trying to gently ease himself away to get some breathing room.

"What I should have done long ago," she said, trailing kisses up the side of his throat that left nothing to the imagination about where she planned this to end.

"Leece, no… not like this. Leece, _wait_." He sat up, gently disentangling himself even as his more primal instincts hollered their approval.

"Why?" She watched him, her grey eyes dark and stormy.

"Leece, I would be breaking the rules of hospitality to… to dally with you under your brother's roof. He hates me, with reason - my father is the reason you two lost everything, even lost each other. Even if _that_ were of no consequence – it's been eight years – we barely know each other anymore. And even if we were to decide _that_ were no barrier – I can offer you nothing. I have no title, no property of my own, and the chances of me even being a father are infinitesimally small."

"You can offer me the same thing I am offering you tonight: pleasure. Connection. Companionship." She ran her hand over his chest.

He groaned, and gently put her hand aside. "Not like this," he said gently but firmly. "We'll talk about it in the light of day. Please, Elissa."

She slipped out of bed, her expression unreadable. "Maybe there will be nothing to talk about then."

"Unfortunate," he said, "but I won't be pushed into something so…. Important."

She leaned over, and gave him a kiss that was hungry and promised so much more – her tongue briefly entangling with his until he groaned.

"Sweet dreams," she said, flouncing out of the room.

* * *

The next morning, very early, Solona paced the battlements, Anders' kitten Pounce sitting on her shoulder, his little claws sunk into her cloak. Occasionally, the kitten purred and rubbed his face against hers with a mew, trying to calm the human.

"Think someone should go up there and talk to her?" Oghren grunted. "She's wearing a path in the granite up there."

"Oghren, anyone going up there while she's in this state is taking his life in his hands. If you don't know how to fly, _don't_ go up there." Sigrun advised.

Oghren looked anyway. "Ancestors, I wish Howe were back."


	46. Headaches

When Nathaniel Howe emerged from his room early the next morning, dressed and ready to go before sun up, he was met by Teyrn Fergus Cousland standing outside his door. _Here we go_, he thought.

"Warden," Cousland said coolly.

"My Lord," he replied, looking at the Teryn. Just about all he needed was some kind of altercation and he knew that Solona and the rest of the Wardens would be paying for it as well.

"May I have a word," Cousland said, and when Nathaniel nodded, Cousland gestured down the hall toward the master suite.

There was hot coffee and fruit, cheese, pastries, and bacon and eggs set for two on a small table. Cousland indicated one of the seats, and Nathaniel nodded gratefully and availed himself of one.

"Thank you," Cousland said without preamble as he sat down across from Nathaniel.

"For being captured by your sister?" Nathaniel said wryly. "You're most welcome. You and your parents trained her well – my lady Cousland is a formidable opponent."

"For bringing her home," Cousland said. "And also for not presuming upon my hospitality."

Nathaniel's eyebrow raised.

"Servants talk." Cousland said coolly. "I am told that my sister…."

"Surely you do not intend to ask me something that would harm Lady Cousland's reputation," Nathaniel said quietly, bringing Cousland up short.

"Fine. I'll talk, you listen." Fergus leaned closer. "I know she broke into your room last night. I also know that she returned to her room almost immediately." He looked at him sharply.

Nathaniel sipped his coffee.

"_Maker_, Nathaniel, you make it hard to hate you," Fergus growled.

"I apologize for being so difficult," he said ironically, eating a strip of bacon. "My lord…."

Fergus grunted and made an impatient gesture at him. "Forget that, Nathaniel – we've known each other for a nug's age."

Nathaniel nodded. "If you'll permit me… you need to talk to Elissa. I don't know what happened to her on the road, but what she saw the night my father betrayed yours… that _alone_ would be enough to make me worry about her well-being."

Fergus looked at him carefully, and then nodded. "You travelled with her for a week…"

Nathaniel quirked an eyebrow at Fergus and kept eating.

"You're not going to tell me _anything_, are you?"

"Talk to Elissa," Nathaniel said quietly.

* * *

As Nathaniel fastened his pack to the saddle of the horse Fergus had lent him, he was staggered by a punch in the arm, and turned to see a furious Elissa standing there beside him.

"You were just going to ride out of here without talking with me?" she demanded angrily.

Nathaniel sighed, and walked with her out of the stable to some benches. He waited until she seated herself, and then sat down beside her. "I thought you said there would be nothing to talk about in the morning?"

"Why did you refuse me last night," she asked angrily, ignoring his question.

"Why did you pounce on me while I was asleep, Elissa? Did you think it was appropriate to manhandle me without a by-your-leave?" He turned the question neatly back onto her, and waited for her answer. "Because frankly, if I had treated you in the same manner, your brother would have had me strung up in the courtyard for assaulting your virtue."

She spluttered.

"Is it because we knew each other once that you assumed I would enjoy it, that I have no other entanglements… or did you assume that I have no honor and would not think about yours either? Or did you simply not THINK?"

"That's rather harsh!"

"Sorry. Life's been rather harsh to me of late." He lowered his voice. "If you are wounded because you think I do not find you attractive, let me put your mind at ease: you are the most distractingly beautiful woman I've met. But you have a title and reputation to protect, and if you will not think of it, then for your own good, I must."

"Don't treat me like a child, Nathaniel!" she flared.

"Perish the thought. I thought I was treating you with the dignity, honor and respect you were due."

She looked at him, and for a moment, he could see through to the old Elissa – and she looked sad that everything had changed. He wished for a moment too that she were still sixteen, and he nineteen, and that instead of sending him off to the Free Marches his father had kept him home and groomed him to be his heir rather than getting him out of the way and readying his younger brother, Thomas. Elissa would have been marrying below her station anyway – her father had been one of the only two Teyrns in Ferelden, but now… now he was _no one_ and _nothing_.

"If you're simply worried about protecting my virtue," she said brusquely, "you needn't worry."

Nathaniel raised an eyebrow. "Elissa… at least spend a few weeks getting used to being home before you decide to throw it all away."

The look she gave him tore at him inside. "How is this home?" she whispered. "Mother and father – Oriana and Oren…. Nan and Ser Gilmore… everyone is dead and gone."

He leaned over and gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. "Try, Elissa. For Fergus' sake as well as your own." He sighed. "If you still feel the same in a few weeks time… well. You've been to Vigil's Keep before."

He swung up into the saddle before he did anything he'd truly regret.

* * *

Solona took Barkly and started to walk toward Amaranthine with him. Normally, she'd have gathered up her little crew to trot off to town, but the idea of walking with Anders and Zev – her current headaches – made her head hurt.

She wished Nate were here… she needed to know what he'd found out about this Architect… and there was something about her second that steadied her when she was most uncertain.

About halfway to the city, Barkly's head snapped up, and he had just given one warning bark when two things happened at once….

Solona went down like a ton of bricks under the bright flash of a combined smite from four templars, and Barkly was slammed into a tree, knocked cold.


	47. Flaming Sword

_Pain. Birds._

_Hurts._

_Lady?_

* * *

The mabari whined softly as it dragged itself to its paws. One of its front legs hurt too much to put to the ground and dangled at an odd angle. There was blood all over the dog, and places where its hide had been cut and other where the bruises were horrible to see.

He sniffed around, casting about with his nose to figure out what had happened. Here, behind these rocks, the Bad Metal Men had lain in wait. There, further off, their horses had stood fidgeting in the bushes. His Lady's smell was strongest near where he had awakened, but fading into the wind.

Barkly whined and sat. He had a trail he could follow. But he was one, and wounded. If he were one but whole, he would have never hesitated a moment. But the Bad Metal Men had surprised them, had smashed him and the Lady.

They had taken her nose-tickle away. And that was bad, very very _bad_.

The mabari looked back the way they had come. The tall nose tickle, and the one of death and forests would come. The short loud one and the jolly dead one would come. Broody man would come if only he knew where Broody Man were.

Barkly _**GOOD**_ dog.

Whining, he began to hobble back towards the keep as fast as his other three paws could take him.

* * *

Nathaniel Howe had pushed the borrowed horse into a canter, trying to clear his mind. The news of The Architect was sobering, and he wasn't sure exactly how he felt about Elissa and Fergus Cousland at the moment. The Teyrn didn't like him much, and Howe couldn't blame him. And Elissa seemed to like him all TOO much. He needed some time to think. The Vigil would give him plenty of time to sort his feelings and thoughts.

As he came to the crossroads on the Pilgrim's Path that would take him to Vigil's Keep, he saw something trying to run at the side of the road, something big with a peculiar hop-step gait. Its head whipped up suddenly, and he realized – under the blood and dirt, it was Barkly.

Howe slid from the horse's back, dropping the reins. The horse immediately dropped its head and moved to the side of the road to crop at grass.

"Barkly?"

The mabari hobbled over to Nathaniel, wagging its tail briefly. It was clear the dog's leg was broken, and one of its ears was torn near the root where a mace obviously had bashed it on the skull. The dog stood before him and barked wildly.

"Easy, old boy," Nathaniel said soothingly, and with difficulty, he picked the dog up. As soon as the four paws came off the ground the mabari whined and licked his face, the relief from pain clear.

"Where's your mistress?" Nathaniel asked as he walked over to the horse.

Barkly's reaction was immediate – he began to whine piteously.

Worse and worse, Nathaniel thought.

Somehow he hoisted the wounded dog across the saddle, and swung carefully up himself. He jostled the dog's leg and cursed as the dog let out a high pitched yelp.

"Sorry. Sorry! Don't worry, boy, we'll get you fixed up and we'll find her."

* * *

It had taken Anders, Nathaniel and Oghren to muzzle Barkly and set his leg before the white healing magic was sent through it, knitting it whole.

"But why would she have gone off to Amaranthine alone?" Nathaniel gritted. "I don't understand it."

Anders looked rather pale at that, and a look passed between him and Zevran. Oghren snorted.

Nathaniel sighed. "So she went off alone when she probably wasn't at her most alert."

Barkly snapped his teeth and barked sharply.

"Sorry… she went off without enough backup," Nathaniel said.

Zevran knelt by the mabari. "If only you could tell us what happened… who took her."

Barkly cocked his head, then barked savagely four or five times, then ran out the door. He ran back in, looking at them expectantly, then barked again.

"It's frightening how smart mabari are." Zevran said, following him.

* * *

Barkly headed straight for Herren and Master Wade's forge, and as Wade wailed and flapped his arms at the hound, the mabari grabbed a sword blank in his teeth and ran back to Nathaniel. The dog dropped it in front of the man, then pushed it with his nose until it was lying point away from Nathaniel.

"That FADE BEAST grabbed one of my sword blanks!" Wade wailed, and as he reached for it Barkly snarled and snapped at him.

"Master Wade, a moment if you please," Zevran said smoothly.

Barkly growled and scratched two lines in the dirt along the left side of the blade, radiating out – then two more on the right side. Then he sat and howled.

Anders looked positively sick. "Templars," he said.

Barkly sat on his haunches and waved his front paws in the air, then dropped down to a sitting position again.

Nathaniel looked grim. He'd known that Rylock's disappearance would cause trouble eventually. "Oghren, get Sigrun. Zev, Barkly, with me."

"Wait – I'm going." Anders protested.

"What good will it do if you're hit with Smite in the first thirty seconds of battle?" Nathaniel said.

"But I'm your healer – she could be hurt!"

A look passed between Zev and Nathaniel, and Barkly whined. She probably was – and still, Anders would be a liability on this mission.

"Anders, I need you here – with the recruits. We _will_ bring her back," Nathaniel said, squeezing the blond mage's shoulder gently. "How do you think she'd feel if you were arrested and dragged back to the Circle – or to the gallows?"

He looked as if he might be ill. "Get her away from them, Nate. For her own good – and theirs."


	48. People and things that went before

"…elden!"

_Pain. Nausea._

"It's just a _title_. Andraste's knickers, don't be such an ass. When all's said and done, she's just a mage…."

"And an apostate, and probably a _malificar_ at that."

Solona's stomach knotted at that third voice. _So calm. So familiar. _ She felt her heart begin pounding, and took long, slow, quiet breaths to try to relax. Panic would not serve her well here.

She was on her side, bound hand and foot. There was a tight-fitting leather… mask? helmet? over her head and blinding her, and a gag had been forced into her mouth. She reached for her magic and… nothing. Not even a whisper of it remained.

She was in trouble.

The last thing she had remembered was Barkly's head coming up and a panicked bark –then the combined overwhelming force of her four captors all hitting her with Holy Smite at the same time. Before she'd had time to regain her feet she'd been kicked and pummeled until she could no longer resist being bound and gagged. She'd heard Barkly's yelp that morphed into a scream, and heard the dull sounds as they continued to beat him, even after he was down. Likely, they were trying to make sure the mabari never opened his eyes again in the waking world.

Then an armored boot had caught her in the head, and everything had gone dark.

"Why isn't she dead yet? We could have done for her the way she did for Derrick – slit the bitch's throat."

"Because that would be too easy. And it also doesn't serve our purposes. You need to _think_, Farrel."

Solona stayed perfectly still, breathing quietly, trying to hear as much as she could.

"_Ennobling_ a mage, and putting her over real humans as an _Arlessa_ – disgusting! The king _must_ be made to understand that the Divine will NOT tolerate such perversion."

_Oh, no._ _Orlesian_ interference. _Chantry_ interference.

"Secondly, there is _profit_ to be made. There are certain… powers here in Amaranthine who are willing to pay well to see her ended – but also want her to be certain of who, exactly, had her done in."

_Shit._

"And lastly… Amell and I are old _friends_, you might say. And it's said that you never _really_ forget your first."

She was kicked in the ribs suddenly, and a strangled grunt made it past the gag. She flinched, squeezing her eyes shut and turning from the too-bright light of day as the leather mask was yanked roughly away.

Cold, unyielding steel clenched against either side of her jaw, dragging her face around to meet cold, cruel eyes of ice.

Solona met that gaze unflinchingly. She couldn't speak around the gag in her mouth and didn't even try. Bound hand and foot, she was not able to defend herself. She could see the cut along her arm into which the magebane must had been introduced – because where was the fun in smiting someone unconscious when you could bully and torment them instead?

Betron smiled at her expression, and it wasn't at all a nice smile. "So you _do_ remember me," he hissed, squeezing her jaw harder.

Solona glared. She was beyond fearing now… she had heard their plans to kill her and had no doubts that with Betron along, there would be more than simply death. _If I could kill them just with the power of my mind, there would be nothing but blood, spinal fluid and brains all over this clearing_.

She cut her eyes to the side, and saw three other templars there. One was very young, and he looked distinctly green. "Wait… but… we're doing nobles' dirty work here? I th-thought we were bringing to justice a murderer!"

"You remember what she and her confederates did to Rylock, I hope? Of _course_ it's justice… but there's no reason justice shouldn't pay well."

Solona locked eyes with the young templar, her expression softening. _Don't_, she thought at him. _Question the orders. You know this isn't right. Leave, go to the local chantry, tell them_.

Betron slapped her. "Did I tell you you were allowed to look anywhere but at me?"

Solona looked at him as if he were something she'd stepped in and couldn't wait to scrape from her shoe.


	49. Not So Tough Now

Ser Anton was in over his head.

He was nineteen years old, and had only just attained his knighthood. He had been assigned to the Chantry in Amaranthine, and was proud of being a protector of both the Chant and of the people. He had not yet been assigned to work in Kinloch Hold – he hoped to be transferred there within a year or two – but he had taken his vows, taken his lyrium, and was eager to learn as much as possible from older, more experienced knights.

He'd been one of a few raw recruits who were present on the day Ser Betron came, supposedly from Kinloch Hold, to ask the Reverend Mother about the possibility of dangerous malificarum in the area. Three templars of the tower were missing and presumed dead; their last known location was near Amaranthine.

Revered Mother had given him and two others leave to accompany Ser Betron in search of these dangerous mages, even though he had no phylacteries to help in the search. These blood mages had apparently had their phylacteries stolen and destroyed; over a half dozen of them had disappeared from the vault in Denerim, apparently, within the last few months.

The blood mage was like no other he'd seen – dressed in loose breeches and a long tunic, no staff, rod or wand, sword strapped to her waist and a mabari hound trotting alongside her. She had the most amazingly beautiful auburn hair, glossy and sleek and falling about her shoulders, and deep sapphire blue eyes that seemed somehow sad….

He _**had** _to stop thinking about her as if she were a person. She was a _maleficar_, by Andraste!

"Well, well… if it isn't…." Ser Betron had sounded ecstatic when he saw the woman walking alone, and looked up and down the road to make sure she was, in fact, unaccompanied. Then he drew them all into the bushes, whispering his orders quickly. "On the count of five, I want you all to hit her with Holy Smite. I've dealt with this one before – a very dangerous and deadly maleficar. Our only chance will be to take her down before she has the chance to meet anyone's eyes and possess them."

And so, they'd all prepared themselves, letting the Smite build up in their chests and behind their eyes, the power rippling along their nerve endings in that not-quite-painful way it had… and on the count of five, they'd all unleashed at her. A split second before it hit, the mabari's head had whipped up, and he only got the chance for a single high pitched bark before she was slammed to the ground, her will and mana completely drained.

The mabari had leapt for Betron, hysterical in its need to protect its mistress – strange that a mabari had imprinted a blood mage, of all things – but Betron met it with his mace and slammed the dog in the skull, flinging it back into a tree trunk. Before the animal could regain its feet, the older templar had stomped on its front leg, and the crack as the bone snapped was one of the most horrifying things Anton had ever heard. The dog actually screamed, its teeth sliding off his greaves as it attempted to defend itself. Betron had beaten it with the mace well past the point of unconsciousness. He'd grabbed the sword belt she'd worn and strapped it around his own waist… why _shouldn't_ he take her sword? She wouldn't need it anymore.

They'd bound the mage hand and foot, gagged her, and covered her face with a mask so she could not see, and thrown her over the back of Betron's horse, tying her there on her stomach so she could not fall. Now several hours later, they were camped in the Knotwood Hills, and Anton had heard one of his fellow templars comment, "She looks a good bit like what they say the Hero of Ferelden looks like."

"The hero of Ferelden?" Anton had squeaked.

"So? It's just a _title_. Andraste's knickers, don't be such an ass. When all's said and done, she's just a mage…."

"And an apostate, and a _malificar_ at that." Betron had purred, looking over toward the prone mage.

"Why isn't she dead yet?" That was Ser Farrel. "We could have done for her the way she did for Ser Derrick – slit the bitch's throat."

"Because that would be too easy. And it also doesn't serve our purposes. You need to _think_, Farrel." Betron sneered. "_Ennobling_ a mage, and putting her over real humans as an _Arlessa_ – disgusting! The king _must_ be made to understand that the Divine will NOT tolerate such perversion. Secondly, there is _profit_ to be made. There are certain… powers here in Amaranthine who are willing to pay well to see her ended – but also want her to be certain of who, exactly, had her done in."

_Shit, _Ser Anton thought. This had little to do with her being brought to justice, it seemed – but why did not Farrel and Neddo say something?

"And lastly… Amell and I are old _friends_, you might say. And it's said that you never _really_ forget _your first_."

Anton blanched. Betron had… broken his vow of chastity? Had _intimate relations_ with this wo—with this _mage_?

Betron kicked her in the side and yanked off the mask, and the mage… the _woman _lay there blinking owlishly, obviously pained.

"Wait… but… we're doing _nobles' dirty work_ here? I th-thought we were bringing to justice a murderer!" Anton protested.

"You remember what she and her confederates did to Rylock, I hope? Of _course_ it's justice… but there's no reason justice shouldn't pay well."

The woman's eyes were pained, and there was anger… and resignation… in her look as she was forced to look Betron in the eye. She'd managed to look toward Anton, and the look in her eyes made something inside him want to die.

_You know this is wrong_, the look said. _You know this is not justice._ There was also no hope in that look… a look that told him she expected to die here, far from Chantry or trial.

He had the oddest feeling that whatever happened, she did not want him to be a part of this. _Leave, go, keep your honor_.

He'd already slipped away by the time Betron turned his attention back to the woman and slapped her for looking away from him.

* * *

Anton had grabbed his horse from the picket, and mounted swiftly. Against three fellow knights, he would be swiftly beaten down – and the three of them could tell the Revered Mother whatever tale they wanted about how he'd turned on them. He needed to get help, and get it now – report to the Chantry, get other knights to come back.

He had been riding hell for leather down the road, ducking his head to avoid a tree branch overhead, when something dropped from it and slammed him from the saddle. The horse screamed and started bucking in panic along the road as he and whatever had hit him rolled into the ditch at the side of the road to relative safety.

There was a menacing snarl, and he looked up to see an elf – beautiful, even though a beat later he understood he was male – sitting on his chest with a dagger to his throat. Beside him, healed, was the mabari Betron had beaten, blood still dappling his brindle hide.

"You've got to come quickly if you're any friend of Amell's!" he blurted.

"Ah, and what a convenient change of heart that is." The elf leaned over him. There was teasing in the voice, but death in his eyes. "Does one good to hear it."

"_Please_," Anton said, "either get off and come back with me to help her, or get off and let me bring other knights – what they plan is not justice, it's assassination! I must inform the Revered Mother!"

"Pike Twirler, if you're lyin', they will _never_ find all the pieces of you." Two dwarves and an archer came into view.

"Maker's breath, there's no time to waste!" he exploded, shoving at the elf.

"Let him up," the archer said. He glared at Anton. "Know this: if you are leading us into a trap, you _will_ die before I do."

* * *

Betron had pulled the gag out of Solona's mouth, and was disappointed that she was not crying or begging, as she had ten years ago. She simply glared at him, addressing her words to the other two templars.

"You realize you follow a pedophile and rapist?" she'd hissed. The two templars looked uneasy at that.

"Maleficar lies," Betron said smoothly. "You cannot trust a word these mages say."

"I was sixteen," she continued calmly, "and I know he'd raped younger mages, male and female. I had to heal some of them. He was transferred from Kinloch Hold because of it."

He slapped her.

"I am the Hero of Ferelden, the Commander of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden, Arlessa of Amaranthine," she said, spitting out the blood that filled her mouth from his gauntlet tearing her mouth up. "I am no anonymous mage that can disappear without repercussion." She leaned forward. "The king will see you _hanged_, _drawn_, and _quartered_ for this."

And she smiled then. Smiled, her teeth outlined in red, and streaked pink. "And you are a coward, Betron. A liar, a coward, a rapist, and you will drag your brother Templars down without a thought. Come, you've poisoned me with Magebane – you know I could not cast a spell to save my life. Cut me loose, and put a blade in my hand – and let the Maker and Andraste judge who is right."

"I will enjoy hearing you beg on your knees," he snarled.

* * *

The Wardens had tied off Ser Anton's horse to a tree down the road, and Nathaniel, Zevran, Barkly, Oghren and Sigrun crept through the brush, keeping an eye on Anton. He seemed nervous, but Barkly's growls had tapered off as he walked beside the young templar.

Anton moved more slowly now, more cautiously as he came up to where he had left his fellow templars camped. It seemed from the lack of alarm that they had not yet really noticed that he – and his horse – were gone.

* * *

Solona kept her eyes glued to Betron's face, even as she twisted and pulled at the thong which was becoming slick with her blood. She thanked the maker she'd been poisoned with Magebane – no way for them to claim she had used blood magic on them.

Betron grabbed her arm suddenly, hauling her upright.

"You. Gather wood and build a fire. You. Set up tents. I will… question the maleficar." He used his sword to slash the thong binding her feet together, and shoved her toward the edge of camp, toward the river.

As he shoved her through the bushes, Solona hissed, "There is a special place in the Fade for such as you… may you suffer what you've done to your charges a thousand-fold there."

"Shut up." He cuffed her. "Do you know what you've cost me, bitch? I should have been a Knight-Captain at least by now…"

"I'm sorry that your proclivities as a rapist prevented your rise to power," she mocked. The thong slipped, and she wriggled out of it. She faked a stumble, and as he wrenched her upright she bumped against him.

Her hand closed around the hilt of the sword he'd stolen from her, Spellweaver, and it was if the sword welcomed her touch, fitting perfectly into her hand. With another feigned stagger she yanked away beyond arm's distance, facing him, her eyes narrowed.

"Betron, you always were an overconfident, stupid sack of shit," she spat, backing to her left, trying to flank him. "I guess that comes from attacking children and those you'd already rendered unable to defend themselves. But there's something I learned in the years I was on the road, fighting darkspawn and raising an army against the archdemon… would you like to know what that was?"

He stared at her. "Nothing of import, I'm sure," he sneered, moving to keep out of reach as he grasped his mace..

"Oh, of _very_ great importance," she said with a predatory smile. She circled him, and he kept moving to face her.

Her eyes narrowed. "I learned it from another templar, actually… he told me that against a mage, your powers are formidable. Against a swordsman? You're just a man in a metal suit."

Solona lunged.


	50. Free Throw

Solona's lunge took Betron by surprise – apparently he had thought that the mage had carried Spellweaver only for show – and it was only by the barest of margins that he turned and stepped out of the way, but the damage was done – a shallow cut opened on his right cheek, and started to bleed into his black beard and mustache.

She smiled, her eyes narrowing, as she purred, "First blood goes to me, Betron."

His eyes narrowed in piggy hate as he bellowed and lunged at her, swinging the mace at her with all his strength.

Solona backpedaled, dancing out of reach. She didn't dare catch the mace with her blade – it would probably shatter poor Spellweaver. _Ok, Lona, THINK._

She wore no armor. That was both a blessing and a curse. Her knowledge of the elven arcane warriors allowed her to wear plate armor simply because her magic strengthened her and let her use it to lighten the load. She was not burdened with armor she could not bear, but she also was not protected. She was less protected than Zevran was at any time with his leathers at the moment – so that meant she would have to be very very fast or she would be very very dead soon.

Fortunately, sparring with the Crow had made her fast. Likewise all the swordwork with Sten, Oghren, and Alistair had trained her. Though her magic would not be able to help her, the muscle memories and the training that had made her lean and wiry certainly would.

Her reach with Spellweaver was longer than Betron's with his mace – which had allowed her past his guard to gash his cheek open. But he could swing much harder – and shatter bone or blade if he connected.

He must not connect.

His armor was a problem. Solona had certainly driven Spellweaver through Rylock, but she'd taken the templar by surprise in cramped quarters. That was not going to happen here. Solona decided it must be death by a thousand cuts, then… and hope that his armor tired him out and gave her the opportunity to strike a final blow.

"Stand and fight, Fade take you!" Betron swore, swinging at her head.

Solona waited until he was committed, until the mace was at the point where a return stroke would be awkward if not impossible, and ducked. The tip of Spellweaver stabbed into the space between his chestplate and underarm, and he swore as he yanked away.

Solona felt the whisper of magic starting to come back, but she didn't try to access it. She did not need to be Smited on the spot. Better to save it for when it was desperately needed.

Betron was breathing hard now, blood trickling down the side of his armor, and Solona circled away from him, eyes narrowed, watching him as he pressed the advantage.

And then, her foot slipped as she stepped on a stone and her ankle twisted.

Solona went down hard, and Betron immediately lunged after her, the heavy head of the mace aimed straight at her skull. With a yelp she rolled aside, but the heavy weapon slammed into her left shoulder, and she screamed as she felt bone smash. She managed to get to her feet somehow and away, but her left arm hung useless and she vomited as she moved away from him.

"I think _that_ pass goes to me," Betron smirked. "Do you know what I will do, Amell, when I have you beaten like that cur of yours?"

She spat, trying to clear the acrid taste from her mouth, unable even to lift her left hand enough to wipe her mouth.

"I will make you beg," he hissed. "First, for me to stop… then for me to _kill_ you… but I _won't_ kill you, mage… I will hold the brand to you myself and make you Tranquil… and then, you won't beg or fight anymore…."

She fought for calm. If she let him rattle her while she was wounded, she was dead. "The only way for you to find a willing bedwarmer?" she hissed.

Their next pass was furious as well, and though she managed to cut him over the right eye, blinding him as blood dripped there, he'd ducked under her sword stroke, caught her right knee and smashed it. Solona went down curled around it and her sword, shrieking in agony, and Betron stood over her, his bloodied mace held loosely in his right hand, grinning at her.

"When will you learn, Amell…."

She dragged herself backward, trying to pour what little magic she had into a healing for her knee, but as soon as she committed herself to the spell she saw his mace and hands begin to glow blue with a gathering Smite.

She dropped Spellweaver, scuttling backward. "I yield," she said, "I yield!"

"Far, far too late for that." He grinned and began to advance on her. "And now, Amell… we're going to reestablish that you _are_ powerless and _will_ do whatever I wish of you…."

Solona reached into the waistband at the back of her breeches with her right hand, and in one smooth motion, grabbed the dagger hidden there by its blade and threw.

There was a horrible wet thud, and Betron wavered a moment, then fell bonelessly to the ground, her dagger protruding from his right eye. When she smelled that he'd loosed his bowels and bladder, she slumped to the ground, gripping the hilt of Spellweaver.

_So tired._

* * *

When she opened her eyes again, she felt the world swaying, and there was nothing but pain. She was seated upright on a horse, leaning back against a warm chest, her body wrapped in a cloak, arms on either side of her holding her safe.

She made a strangled sound, and a familiar voice purred in her ear, "_Querida_… I've got you."

She closed her eyes again. "Sorry, Zev…," she said quietly. "I think I lost the dagger you gave me for my name day." She felt tears welling up… somehow her beautiful silverite dagger with its ebony hilt became of paramount importance to her.

"As if I would leave it that marvelous blade in the substandard sheath you used?" he scoffed.

The horse jostled her knee, and Solona went white, the breath knocked out of her and tears blinding her. Zev somehow managed to cradle her in a way that didn't hurt her shoulder worse or her knee, and didn't let her slip.

When she got her breathing under control again, she said blearily, "Whose… whose horse is this?"

"Mine," said a nervous voice near the front of the animal, and she looked down and saw a templar leading the horse.

Solona cringed against Zevran, and the hair on the back of Zev's neck started to rise as Solona's magic started to gather.

"_Corazon_," he said quietly, "he brought us to you. He saw it was not justice and he went against his brothers."

Solona let the magic fade, and leaned against Zev's shoulder again, closing her eyes. Within seconds, she was back in the fade.

* * *

When she woke again, it was screaming and fighting as she was being held down, her broken leg being yanked at until it snapped back the way it was supposed to be _oh Andraste's flaming arse, Oh Maker's Balls!_ and the healing magic sent through it…. As soon as she'd caught her breath she was held down again. Fighting desperately, her throat so raw it threatened to swell shut, and the bones in her shoulder and collarbone pushed back into place.

* * *

"It was a truly glorious throw," Zevran told Anders as they sat just outside Solona's quarters, listening for any signs that she might regaining consciousness or be in pain. "Supine, her shoulder and knee smashed… we had just burst into the clearing. Nathaniel had an arrow nocked, and I a dagger in hand when Solona reached under her hip and threw right into his eye. Remarkable."

Anders still looked pale – the healing had taken a lot out of him. "What did you do with the… templar?"

"Nathaniel is with him, escorting him to Revered Mother. The boy may well wish to transfer far away from here… Nathaniel will speak in his defense. And he means to make sure that Revered Mother understands that the Wardens will NOT tolerate further aggression from the Templars."

"If she does not accept it?"

"We continue to send them back in a box."


	51. All Tied Up

When Solona's eyes opened next, Barkly was on the bed beside her, looking her in the eyes with soft chocolate brown eyes that radiated love. She pet the dog gently, her fingers gliding over the scar that showed where the ear had been torn nearly from his head… he flicked it up at her with the tongue-out equivalent of a doggie chuckle that said "that tickles!" and she knew Anders or a healing poultice had set it right without going so far as to heal cosmetically.

"Good dog," she croaked, her throat raw and dry.

There was movement at the side of her bed, and Solona looked up blearily as Zevran came into view, pouring her a mug full of… something. "Well now you've done it, my dear Warden-Commander. Anders and I are quite annoyed with you."

Solona tried to sit up but was as weak as a kitten. Zevran slid an arm under her shoulders and eased her up as he held the cup to her lips and she drank deeply. As she finished the mug he set it aside, then sat on the bed, letting her use his shoulder and side as a prop.

"You were, if I am not mistaken, told that you were to have four days of uninterrupted rest, and then you run off with your very fine hound without letting any of the rest of us mere mortals know where you were going? Very poor form indeed, my dear heart. And what was it that sent you running off, I wonder? No matter."

He stroked her hair. "You are confined to bed, my own, for the next four days. And to make sure you STAY there, Anders and I will be taking turns."

Solona's eyes widened. "What?"

"Sitting with you, of course. Really, my deadly radiant beauty, what did you think I meant?" He grinned wickedly.

She radiated annoyance, and started to try to swing her legs over to the side of the bed to get up. As if waiting to see just this move, Barkly plopped himself across her legs and put his head in her lap with an annoyed grumble.

"You too, you brute?" she complained.

"A foursome, Ser Barkly? I don't know… I made a promise long ago: no children or animals." Zevran scratched behind the dog's ear.

"Let me up!" Solona demanded.

Zevran looked at her. "To what purpose?"

"First, the chamberpot," she said mockingly. "Next… this keep won't run itself…"

"No, it will not, but that is not your concern at the moment," Zevran said firmly. "Nathaniel's been working closely with Varel and Garavel to make sure the keep itself runs well. As for you…." Zevran smiled in a way that served to make her a little nervous. "If we need to tie you to the bed to make sure you rest, so be it. Of course, I can think of more interesting ways to keep you in bed… some involving ropes and others not."

"This isn't funny," she grumbled.

His expression changed then – completely serious. "No," he said, "it is not. We nearly lost you because you made a poor, emotional decision – when you are exhausted and need rest. I am quite serious when I tell you I will use all means, fair or not, to keep you right here until you've healed and rested sufficiently."

She raised an eyebrow. "I take it Anders is fully on board with this 'all means fair or not' business?"

"You can always ask him…. Or we could invite him." Zevran said.

She shooed Zevran out of the room. "Let me use the damned thundermug in piece, man," she grumbled.


	52. Braced Myself for the Goodbye

When Solona woke again, Anders was slumped in a chair he'd drawn to the foot of her – well, to tell the absolute truth, _their_—bed. She cocked her head to study that face she knew so well, and if truth be told and fear be damned – loved so much.

He looked like he'd been chewed up and spit out by the Fade.

Solona eased out of bed cautiously – she was still fairly weak from the injuries Betron had inflicted on her, and from the healing that followed.

There were dark circles under Anders' eyes, and his cheeks were rough with stubble. His feet were propped on the corner of the bed, his body slumped back in the chair, so that he was at least in an approximation of a comfortable, stretched out position. His hair had messily come mostly undone from his tie, and Solona gently traced the ring of gold in his right ear. When he hardly stirred, she pulled the cover from her bed and gently draped it over him… then lay across the foot of the bed near him, pulling the sheet over herself, her head near his knee.

* * *

When she woke again, her hair was being stroked gently, soothingly, and she opened her eyes to see Anders had moved... was sitting up beside her. "Hey," he said gently.

"Hey." She sat up, snuggling against his side. Anders put an arm around her, and for a moment, he hugged her hard – almost painfully so – before he relaxed his grip on her.

At the same time, they both asked, "How are you feeling?"It made her chuckle – but for once Anders was… solemn. She frowned with worry and intertwined her fingers with his.

"Maker, Lona," he said quietly, "Why'd you go?"

All amusement fled from her expression, and she looked away, as if struggling to explain herself. She couldn't meet his eyes. "I…"

How could she explain it to him – to Anders, of all people? To tell him that when he walked out on her, and when he hadn't come to talk to her in the morning, that she thought he was done with her, over, that she'd just been a diversion and she'd felt another piece of her soul wither up and die? To be a mage and love exclusively… it was unheard of, and with good reason. And now she'd gone and done it _twice_.

She'd been _honest_ with him, as he asked. Told him about Zev's feelings for her. Told him that she'd let Zev know that she was unavailable.

And Anders had walked out. And in the morning, when he hadn't come back to their room, she'd gone to the battlements – what she considered their place, to be honest – to wait for him there.

He hadn't come.

Solona didn't even realize that she was crying until she felt Anders' fingers gently wiping the silent tears from her cheeks. These were no shuddering, sobbing wails – mages never got that luxury. They were taught from the time they came to the tower not to let their emotions get the better of them – demons could sink their claws into an overly emotional mage. Templars tended to target them for scrutiny and smiting, becoming even surer that such a mage was an abomination waiting to happen.

And loving exclusively meant you were going to get hurt. She'd learned that lesson the hard way, and it seemed she was getting a refresher.

"Lona, what is it? You can tell me…"

She heard the words spilling out, the pain, and the fear even as her mind screamed at her to shut up. "Like I did when you walked out?"

The silence was deafening, and she hid her face in her hands, her whole body shaking with her tears.

"Lona." Then again, a touch more forcefully. "Lona, look at me."

She looked up, tearblind, and he captured her face between his hands and kissed her lips tenderly, her cheeks tenderly, held her close. "Maker, Lona…."

She pulled away, braced herself for the inevitable. "It's ok," she said, calm outwardly. "I understand." She wiped her eyes.

"No," he said sharply, "You don't." He stood before her, not daring to touch her. "_Look at me._"

She looked, and the expression on her face pained him. Part of him was insulted that she could think he'd simply abandon her… but he knew she'd good reason to believe it. It had only happened to her over and over in her life. Family, friends, Circle, Wardens, lover… all torn from her once she'd believed and loved wholeheartedly.

This wasn't easy for him either.

"What I feel for you… Lona, I can't… this isn't easy for me." He paced, pushing his loose hair back. "I've never felt this depth of… of love for another human being, not since I was taken from my mother," he said shakily. "When you spoke about Zevran… I was afraid of what that might mean for us. I was exhausted and I didn't want to fight… so I went to sleep in Howe's old rooms. When I got up… you had already gone." He stopped pacing, faced her, still not touching. "When Nathaniel came back with Barkly and we knew you'd been taken by templars…" The look on his face was eloquent enough.

"Staying here waiting for you to return was torture," he confessed. "And when they brought you back so badly hurt…"

She looked up, her expression still a little guarded.

"I thought I'd lose you," he said quietly. "For good."

She looked up at him, then quietly stepped forward and hugged him with almost bone-crushing intensity, as if she expected for him to be torn away from her again, right there and then. "So where do we go from here? What do we do?" She sniffled, chuckling humorlessly. "Maker, we're a horrid excuse for mages."

"We talk to each other." He caressed the side of her face. "We listen, even when it's hard to do. And we love each other."

"Even when it's hard to do?" She wasn't sure if she was laughing or crying.

He nodded. "And we trust each other, and do what we can to make each other happy." He gently stroked her chin, getting her to look up and look him in the eyes. "Now… about Zev…"


	53. Bear skin

Solona Amell had taken the master suite at Vigil's Keep as was only proper for its Arlessa and for the Warden-Commander of the Grey. What that had meant had been redecorating the room entirely, tearing out the masculine dark woods and burgundy tapestries, and replacing it with clean, light birch trims and restful earth tones like sage green and sand.

The master suite had a large sitting room, in one corner of which Solona had set up a desk for her paperwork concerning the running of the Arling and of the Wardens in Ferelden. There were also bookshelves, crowded with books both esoteric and mundane: histories, sciences and magical books. The centerpiece of the room was a fireplace in front of which resided two lovely wing chairs, a small table between the two wing chairs, and the shaggy cured pelt of a Great Bear she'd killed herself when it surprised her in the Brecelian Forest.

Anders had teasingly asked where she wanted to mount Betron, if she were going to use the pelts of the creatures she'd bested as furnishings. She'd replied lightly, but with a slight hitch in her voice, that she never wanted to hear the words "mount" and "Betron" in the same breath again – and Anders, thinking of her past, had had the grace to blush.

On the other side of her sitting room/office was a door that led to the bedroom and the bathing area at its side – a large tub easily big enough for two to share. The bed was a large affair – a heavy four-poster bed more than big enough for two to sleep in comfortably – either twined together at the center or comfortably apart on either side.

Anders placed a tray with three glasses on the small table near the fireplace, and admired the bottle of brandy Solona had acquired from her travels. He also admired Solona's graceful back and curved buttocks, kneeling to start the fire. There was a certain… mood shift when sitting before a crackling fire, he had to admit. With the fire going, the flickering light was warm and romantic.

Solona stood and faced him, smiling nervously as she stepped forward and hugged him, running her fingers through his hair. "You're good with this?"

He kissed her slowly, tenderly. "I'm good," he rumbled quietly, pulling her close.

There was suddenly an expectant air in the room, and they turned toward the door. Frozen there, looking uncharacteristically undecided about whether to come in or leave, was Zevran.

"I see I've caught you in the middle of things," he said carefully, poised to leave. "If now is not a good time…"

"Come on in, Zev," Solona said, smiling and stepping away from Anders to take the Antivan by the hand.

"Perhaps I am a little early…?"

"Just on time, I'd think," Solona said, drawing him into the room. Anders poured amber liquid into each of the glasses on the tray, then handed one to Zevran and another to Solona. Taking a third, he sat on the bearskin, sprawling negligently as he swirled the amber liquid in its big belled glass.

Zevran looked at the two mages, then at the drink in his hand. He sniffed at it, and looked up at both of them in wonder and pleasure. "Antivan brandy…. Rather an old and very prized vintage, if I don't miss my guess!"

Solona smiled, raised her glass to him, and took a sip, watching him over the rim of her glass. She, too, took a seat, though she sat in one of the wing chairs.

Zev took his cue and joined them, sitting on the rug across from Anders and at Solona's feet, still looking at them curiously. They both seemed very relaxed – yet a little nervous as well. What was going on here? He took a sip of the brandy and hummed in appreciation. "That is wonderful," he exclaimed, as he felt it warming him through.

He shivered suddenly as he felt gentle fingers playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, and looked up to see Solona sipping her brandy and stroking his hair playfully. He eased his eyes over to Anders, who was unconcernedly sipping his brandy and glancing between the fire and Solona and Zevran.

"We invited you up," Solona started, "because we'd like to ask you something,"

Zevran looked at her warily. _Curiouser and curiouser_, he thought. He looked at Anders.

Anders met the Antivan's gaze. "We thought," he said, looking into his snifter and swirling the brandy again, "we'd ask you to join us for a drink… and see where, if anywhere, that led us."

"Did you?" He reached up and stroked Solona's arm. "And this is something you wish as well, my dear Warden? You seemed… resistant."

"I was taken by surprise," she said quietly. "And whatever we decide… it must be something we're all amenable to. I don't want any of us feeling shut out and excluded… or uncomfortable about involvement in any of the things we decide to do." She trailed her fingers up the side of his face gently, and he closed his eyes and leaned into her touch, then turned his head and kissed her palm.

"And you, my tall friend…" Zevran asked.

Anders sipped at his brandy. "I suggested it." He smiled at Zev. "I admit that I _am_ curious about those massage techniques I am told you learned in an Antivan whorehouse."

Zevran smiled then. "Well, indeed. Let us see where the evening takes us, then."

* * *

They had all been chatting comfortably in front of the fire, and Solona had unbent enough to join Zev and Anders on the rug. Most of the bottle of brandy was now a pleasant memory, and Solona chuckled at Anders, "See, this is what you missed when the Wardens and the Blight Companions were on the road…."

"Getting drunk, making silly jokes by the fire, eating bad food and getting bitten by the wildlife? No thanks," Anders grinned. "I've done that quite enough for one lifetime."

"Well, there was always the nightly… celebrations," Zevran grinned wickedly.

"Oh, come now, " Solona protested, "We did not… not _every_ night…."

"Close enough!" Zevran laughed. "So… that Grey Warden stamina must be something else, no?"

Solona leaned over, giggling, and kissed Zev. "Wouldn't you like to know?"

Zevran's amber eyes drifted half closed, and a smiled played around his lips.


	54. Antivan Brandy

Zevran Arainai leaned in gently as he sat on the bear skin rug in front of the roaring fireplace inside Solona's sitting room, his amber eyes drifting closed as his lips brushed hers.

This time Solona wasn't surprised and didn't pull back. She leaned into him, marveling at how well matched they were for height… how nicely she fit into his arms. She reached up, her left hand pressing his shoulder blades, trying to bring him even closer, her right sliding up into his hair and tangling in his silky golden locks.

Zevran made a pleased sound deep in his throat and deepened the kiss, his hands sliding down her back and spanning her hips. He massaged her rear and pulled her tightly against himself. When her lips parted slightly and she moaned into his mouth, he slipped his tongue past them to flirt with hers.

They broke the kiss and she leaned into him, her face nestled into the crook of his neck, breathing in the scent she thought of as Zev – leather and spice. She nuzzled the side of his neck, nibbling kisses there, and reached up to lightly trace the edge of his delicate ear.

Zevran shuddered against her, and pulled her tight against him. There was no question in her mind now about his attraction to her, at least. She smiled, and turning her head, she leaned over and kissed Anders, stroking his cheek.

Anders leaned in and nuzzled her neck; she felt Zevran stiffen for a split second and realized that Anders was stroking the elf's back and rear as well. _Well_, she thought to herself. _This may be a very interesting night indeed._

"You mentioned massage," Zevran said, his voice smoky and his amber eyes half-lidded, as he took Anders by one hand. "Perhaps we should all move someplace a bit more… comfortable?"

Taking him by the hand, she rose gracefully and drew the elf and the mage after her, backing toward the inner door that led to the sleeping chamber. "His massages _are_ amazing, love," Solona grinned.

Zev paused at the threshold, a questioning look at the two mages, until she tugged him across it. As he passed through, he stepped against the door, closing that one too.

"Solona," he breathed, caressing the side of her face. "Are you sure about this?"

She gave him a wicked grin, and reached between them. He breathed in sharply and shuddered against her.

"I see you are," he breathed, giving her a bruising kiss. "And Anders?"

"Lead on," Anders said, his voice roughened.

* * *

Solona stretched sleepily, and smiled as she slipped deeper into sleep. She snuggled down into the pillows and comforters, her head pillowed on Zevran's chest, tracing the graceful curves of his tattoos as he slept. Anders she felt snuggled close at her back, his breathing slow and relaxed, one of his arms flung across her, one hand brushing against her breast.

There certainly were worse ways to drift off to sleep.


	55. The Morning After

The next morning, Solona woke gently, simply opening her eyes and marveling that there was sunlight streaming in her window and that she had, for once, had a restful night's sleep. She raised her head with a sleepy smile, then realized that her head was on pillows now, and that while Anders' comforting warmth was still spooned behind her, Zevran has somehow slipped out of bed without waking her. The pillow still was slightly warm, so he couldn't have slipped out too long before.

She considered getting up to look for him, but… Zevran was an assassin, well versed in how NOT to be found, should he be avoiding the two mages this morning.

She squirmed slightly, trying to roll towards Anders, only to have him mumble in his sleep and pull her closer. She waited until he relaxed again, then wriggled until she was facing him, kissing his forehead gently.

"'Lona?" He swam up from the Fade gently as well, confused. "What time is it?"

She glanced at the angle and strength of the sun. "Half eight, I should think."

"We'll be the talk of the keep." He smiled lazily, then kissed her softly, slowly. "Where's Zevran?"

Solona shook her head. "Not sure. I should get up and find him. Make sure he's ok."

Ander groaned softly, then kissed the side of her throat. "You're probably right," he said, "but right now I'd much rather ravish you all over again." He pushed up to one elbow, watching her, a faint smile playing around his lips as he joined her in saying in perfect harmony, "Hold that thought!"

It was Anders who got up, though. "You need rest, my love… and Zevran and I are in perfect agreement about it - stay here, relax. As soon as I find out where our Antivan friend is, I'll bring back some breakfast for us."

* * *

It was out in the practice field that Anders found Zevran, throwing daggers at a training dummy while Sigrun looked on.

"Hey," Anders said, "we missed you."

"Did you?" Zevran frowned slightly, tossing blade after blade into the dummy's "heart". "Well, I am here."

Hmm. Anders couldn't miss the dismissal in the words, but with much of the keep passing through he really couldn't pursue it at the moment without it becoming, as he put it, "a thing."

"The lady was asking after you," he said lightly. "May I tell her you're well, and will see her later at lunch?"

"I am well," the assassin said quietly, "but rather busy. I would rather not make promises I might not be able to keep."

* * *

Zevran had awakened to find Solona's head pillowed on his chest, and her arm round his waist, confining him, drawing him in close. His heart had started to race then, and he was surprised she hadn't been awakened by its nervous fluttering.

Moving very very slowly, he managed to slide out from under both her grip and her cheek, being sure to slide his pillow fully under her to keep her position from changing too much. A quick kiss on top of her head, and he slid into his pants and out the door.

He had completely misread the situation, he realized, and it frightened him more than a bit. He had come to their room and acquiesced to the tryst because he really did have a great deal of affection for Solana, and Anders was attractive as well. It seemed like a good idea at the time, until he realized somewhere that they were not necessarily looking at it as a fun diversion - Solona had given herself freely, with an abandon he envied, and while Anders was a bit more reserved it was clear he was intent on giving as much pleasure as he got at the very least. The ease with which they accepted him into their partnership… it made him think he was way in over his head.

And so he had slipped out like a thief in the night, and gone to the practice field to stab things, shoot arrows at things, and throw daggers at things until he could order his unruly thoughts and emotions.

* * *

Anders brought back a hearty breakfast for them both - scrambled eggs, bacon, flat cakes, fruit, cheese, rolls, coffee - and laid it on the small table, covered, so it would stay warm. He slipped into the bathing room and saw Solona relaxing in the large stone tub in steaming water. She opened her eyes lazily, smiled, and nodded him over.

Anders stripped quickly and slid into the tub with her, feeling the warm water easing tense muscles he hadn't been aware he had.

"Zev?" she murmured, snuggling into Anders' side.

"Up and about, on the practice field."

"He was fine?"

"Seemed it. A little preoccupied, maybe."

Solona turned, kissed Anders, and said quietly, "How is he _really_?"

Anders sighed. "Distant," he said quietly. "He didn't seem to want to talk, honestly."

Solona's forehead wrinkled, and she bit her lip absently as she contemplated this.

"Hey," Anders said, kissing her forehead. "Maybe he just needs a little space."

She nodded. "You're probably right," she said softly, pillowing her head on Anders' chest and relaxing in his arms.

* * *

After two days, Solona sighed and tried once more to concentrate on paperwork. She hadn't seen Zevran for more than a minute or three, and that in passing.

_Well. I wonder if Alistair had been right about Zev's intentions after all_, she wondered. _I'd almost believe that but for the fact of his staying with me night and day until I was well, after the archdemon._

_There must be something else… and I'd better pursue it carefully, or not at all._


	56. Trouble in Paradise

"Trouble in paradise, Solona?"

"Please, Nate… just no," the red-haired mage sighed, signing the last of her enormous pile of paperwork.

That was an indication that the current tensions between the Antivan and the Warden were worse than he thought; he wondered what Zev had finally done to annoy Solona. He'd always been an incorrigible flirt, but Solona had been able to handle it with humor and aplomb. Howe wondered just how far Zevran had overstepped.

There was a knock at the door, and Sigrun stuck her head in. "Hey, Howe, visitor at the gate."

Solona sighed. "I'm fine," she grumbled, getting up. "Everyone treats me like I'm made of sodding glass."

"Um. The lady asked for Howe specifically." Sigrun looked amused. "So… should we be preparing for a visit from - what is it you humans say? Good Fade spirits placing little bundles of piss and woe in your arms?"

Even as Solona snorted with laughter, Howe looked horrified. "Maker, no!"

"Go," Solona said gruffly. "I'll, uh, inform Varel that we'll need a guest room aired out."

* * *

Down in the courtyard, Barkly was circling a somewhat smaller, grey mabari carefully, Each dog was grumbling uncertainly, making sure not to expose any vulnerable parts as they tried to assess each other.

"Ugh. Can't you two just whip them out and measure?" Anders sighed, scratching Pounce's ears.

"Mrrrroooooww."

"You said it kitty….. barbaric dogs…."

Nathaniel came down the steps from the keep quickly, pushing between the two hounds who were so affronted by this lack of respect that they stopped growling at each other and sneezed disapprovingly at him.

"Elissa?" Nathaniel scratched Scout's ears absently, looking for the mabari's mistress.

"I'm telling you, you would look simply DIVINE in dragonhide," Wade was gushing at the forge, and Nathaniel walked over there to see Elissa leaning against the outside of the keep as the armorer deftly measured the rogue. "Why, I have a green hide that would suit you PERFECTLY…"

Elissa caught Nate's eyes, and straightened. "We simply must talk more of this, Master Wade… perhaps tomorrow?"

Wade saw where her gaze had fallen, and sighed gustily. "Oh. I suppose you have better things to do than order armor…"

"_Armor_?" Elissa turned her grin on Wade, and Nate watched the man melt a little. "It will be a MASTERPIECE - and all the more reason for us to spend adequate time discussing it - not just a stolen moment here and there."

"Herren, clear my schedule tomorrow morning. This absolute JEWEL and I MUST design the PERFECT armor for her…."

* * *

When Nathaniel had extricated her from Wade, he walked Elissa up to the top of the ramparts. "I'm pleased to see you, but why have you come to visit so soon?"

Elissa grinned. "Is this the part where the proper highborn lady simpers, colors daintily, and demurs? Because I don't do any of that nonsense."

"No," he agreed with a sigh, "none of THAT nonsense."

She pouted. "Aren't you even glad to see me?"

"Very," he admitted, "but we still need to sit down and talk about… where you see things going between us."

"At some point, I think… between the sheets. Though up against the side of the stable has its merits as well…."

Even as Howe groaned, both at her words and at the response it evoked in him, he heard a light laugh behind them.

"If the gentleman fails to accommodate you, my dear lady, know that I offer, in good faith, to please you in whatever way I may." The blonde Antivan elf bowed over Elissa's hand and kissed it, laughing at the glare Howe sent his way. "I can say in all honesty: I am well versed in being an amusing and… entertaining companion."

"Do so," Howe said with false pleasantness, "Somewhere else."

Elissa looked at the cheeky elf as he blew her a kiss and disappeared into the shadows. "Who was _that_?"

"Trouble," Nathaniel responded, "and interested in getting into as many sets of smalls, male and female, as possible, evidently."

Elissa's eyebrow crept into her hairline. "And you disapprove…."

"This is rather a small, tight-knit group in the Vigil. I'd rather avoid… complications."

She frowned at him, then stepped close, playing with the neckline of his tunic. "And do you consider me a… complication as well?"

"Elissa… I don't understand what you want from me." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "Yes, on the face of it - you've been very direct. But why _me_, and _now_?"

She sat on the top of the wall, kicking her feet over into space. "Nate… if there's someone else, just say so."

"There isn't," he assured her. "But Leece, this is rather a sudden picking-up-of-where-we-left-off. And everything around us has changed." He closed his eyes. "Maker's ass, my father murdered your whole family…"

"You're not your father," she protested immediately, and he remembered that Solona had said the same to Oghren all those months ago. "And yes… so much has changed, and we've… I've lost so much." She looked out over the courtyard. "We used to be happy here… and at Highever. Is it so wrong to want to hold onto the things that made us so?"

He sighed. "I just don't want either of us to regret any rash decisions," he said quietly. "You're Lady Cousland… I'm just Warden Nathaniel now. And people won't forget what my father did. Leese," he said softly, raising her chin, trying to get her to meet his eyes. "I don't know what happened, but your brother is overjoyed to have you home, and I am willing to bet he is as we speak trying to make a good match for you. I would ruin that for you."

She emitted a sound halfway between a chuckle and a sob, and shook her head. "Nate… I'm no lady." She slid down from her perch on the wall and back to within inches of him. "You really don't have to worry about… ruining me." She looked away. "There is no noble in Ferelden who'd care to have me bear his children - not that there was a long list _before_ for a noblewoman-rogue wife. Anyone who'd even entertain the idea of marriage to me would do it because they wanted to be closer to succession - not for any respect or love for me."

Nate snorted. "So I'm your last resort, then? How… _flattering_."

She closed her eyes, lowered her head. He nearly missed that she was crying as she didn't sob or sniffle - just stood quietly with tears running down her face. "Nate, I didn't mean… I just…"

She turned to look out over the courtyard, her eyes dulled. "I shouldn't have come," she said quietly. "It's just we wasted all that time… time when we could have been happy, and together… time we could have shared…" She sighed, and started to walk off. "I didn't want to believe that missed opportunities… were a finality."

"Leece." He arrested her with a touch on her elbow. "What... happened?"

* * *

_Watching her father bleed out in the larder..._

* * *

Elissa flinched.

* * *

_Her mother, begging for their lives..._

_No. I don't want to remember this..._

* * *

Elissa shook Nate's hand off.

* * *

_Being passed around among Howe's men... after watching both her parents executed before her._

* * *

Elissa walked toward the stairs._  
_

* * *

_Closing her eyes, doing whatever it took to get coin enough to buy armor and weapons.  
_

* * *

"Elissa, wait."

* * *

_Killing. And killing. And killing some more. And the only thing helping her keep her sanity..._

* * *

Elissa reached up, rubbing a locket around her neck absently. Nathaniel recognized it, and stepped in front of her. "Elissa," he said softly. "Please."

She wavered, then said quietly, "If you're just going to reject me again, don't."

He shook his head. "Let's go inside, Leece. We _really_ need to talk."

* * *

Nathaniel lay, fully clothed, on his bed with Elissa Cousland curled up beside him, her head resting on his shoulder. He stroked her back gently as she slept, trying to digest what she'd told him.

He believed her story, every word, and his chest was heavy and tight as he thought of what she'd endured. He almost wished his father had lived so Elissa could have seen him hanged for what he'd done. She'd not had her closure, and neither, really, had Nathaniel.

He knew the locket the moment he'd seen it; he'd given it to her just before he left for the Free Marches. He couldn't believe she still wore it... but she did.

Perhaps he'd have to rethink his position. It seemed this was no snap decision she'd made to bed him. The question was: did he still want her too?


	57. Heart to Heart

"Truly, Zev… was it _that_ bad?"

Zevran Asrainai was, for once, startled as a very familiar voice came from the shadows. He'd whirled, dagger in hand, and barely managed to arrest the throw that would have likely ended Solona's life.

The mage stepped forward, the unnatural shadows around her dissipating, and held his eyes for only a moment before, sighing, she shook her head and walked past him, heading for her offices. There was no anger in her eyes - in a sense, that would have been easier. There was sadness, and resignation.

And _he'd_ put them there.

Zevran cursed himself, and followed. "My dear Warden…"

She turned, meeting his eyes again, trying to put a brave face on it. "Ok, so I guess it didn't work out… that's ok, honestly." She looked away, took a big breath, and hurried on. "Just… just tell me if I'm going to… if I've lost your friendship, Zev."

And he'd done _that_ to her as well.

"Dear one…" He stepped forward, brushed her cheek with his hand, then tipped her chin up, trying to meet her eyes. "No, you have _not_ lost my friendship. And no… you were marvelous… as was Anders…"

"It's not me, it's you," she said quietly, bitterly. She'd heard that before.

"Solona," he said firmly, "It's _not_ you… I need… time. To sort… I… _Corazon_, what I've had before… it was just for fun, yes?" He looked deeply into her eyes. "But what you and Anders have… it is not just for fun. And I don't know… I don't want to damage that. And I don't know if I can be that… serious."

She sighed, covering his hand with her own. "It's new for me, too…" she said softly. "We… we said we'd see where it took us… but when you shut us out, avoided us…" She smiled uncertainly. "Well."

He hugged her, feeling her relax a little in his arms. He hoped that Anders wasn't similarly discomposed; felt fairly certain that the mage wasn't as emotionally invested in this as Solona apparently was.

_And all because I admitted to her that had she not been in love with her Alistair, I would have pursued her. What a mess… she probably half-believes all I wanted was to bed her. _He certainly wasn't adverse to the notion - but there was always something _more_ behind his interest in her.

That he'd caused her even a moment of self-doubt brought him shame. He would need to sort himself and get back to the mage pair - and quickly.

* * *

Nathaniel was still holding Elissa safe in his arms when she awoke, and she looked up at him with a mix of trepidation, unsure of what his reaction would be after she'd told him exactly what she'd gone through during the Blight. The only thing that kept her from panicking outright was that he was gently stroking her back, and he seemed completely at ease with her.

Tentatively, she stretched to kiss those delicious lips of his, and felt his voice rumble beneath her. "Leece, wait."

Wait was not no, she reminded herself, and she stilled.

He spoke very softly, very deliberately, still stroking her soothingly. "I'd be lying if I told you I am not attracted to you, Leece."

"But…"

His arm tightened fractionally around her, and she felt a wave of relief when she saw his smile – something she knew few others ever saw. "If you'll allow me, I'd like to court you."

She giggled a little at that. "How oddly formal when we're lying in bed together!"

He chuckled. "Fully clothed," he reminded her. "I know. But it's been some time, and we've both changed, I'm sure… I'd like to get to know you again." He looked at her very seriously. "You're worth the time and the effort."

Elissa's vision blurred, and she ducked her head against his chest, snuggling closer. "After all I told you… what I've done…"

She felt his lips on the top of her head. "_You are worth it._"

"No more arguing about my brother finding me a match?"

"No. But it would be best to tell him we intend to court, don't you think?"

Elissa sat up. "I hope you don't intend we should have a chaperone?" she asked, even as she got up.

"I think we can trust each other to resist doing anything to excite comment from here on out."

Her grey eyes darkened, and she pouted. "If I continue to push the boundaries, will you hold it against me?"

His light steel eyes snapped with humor. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

She chuckled. "Guilty as charged."

He stood, and walked over to her, embracing her gently. He leaned down and brushed his lips against hers lightly.

Elissa made a soft sound in her throat, and snaked a hand up into his hair, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss.

He smiled against her lips. "You're going to make this very difficult, aren't you?"

"Some things never change," she replied with a grin.


	58. Intrigue

"Ser Tamra," Solona said, ushering the lady knight into her study, "please, be comfortable."

Barkly padded in beside a servant girl who efficiently laid tea and sandwiches, along with Solona's usual plate of cheeses, bread and fruit. The Grey Warden appetite was not merely legend – it was true, she'd found, and keeping her Wardens fed was a full-time job.

Ser Tamra bowed her head slightly, and sat at the table. "You have my thanks. Forgive me, but how should I address you? Arlessa? Commander?"

"That depends, I suppose, on what brings you here: Warden business or Arling?" Solona sat as well, and poured the steaming tea into their cups.

"My lady," Tamra said, deciding, "You are in grave danger."

"Tuesday already?" Solona mused almost to herself.

"I beg your pardon?"

Solona looked up suddenly, smiling with a touch of embarrassment. "Sorry – old joke among my… old friends."

"My lady, I assure you this is no laughing matter. " Tamra took her cup and some slices of fruit. "There is a plot to end your life, my lady, among some of the nobles of the Arling."

Solona nodded gravely. "A very serious accusation to make," she observed, sipping her tea.

"Please, my lady, you must take this seriously. You know that you have many enemies here, simply by virtue of having killed Rendon Howe."

Solona nodded. "Yes," she said quietly. "Once he plotted to take my life and… and my love's. He also destroyed the Couslands. It did not… end _well_ for him."

"And it is precisely for that reason that you must beware, my lady. There are some who lost much money and power with his death… and others who lost more."

"Ser Tamra," she said, smiling, "you must understand. The past three years of my life I spent being hunted by political upstarts and facing the blight. I assure you – after the archdemon I am really not prepared to be terrified of political intrigue."

Ser Tamra looked very serious. "Please be careful, my lady. I've intercepted some letters – nothing that could implicate anyone directly, but… there truly is a threat to you. I will bring them on my next visit - I cannot in conscience let this go without you knowing as much as possible."

Solona and the lady knight spent the rest of their visit chatting about the Arling and Ser Tamra's own holdings. Solona found herself liking the knight although she told herself that until she could get an accurate read on all her vassals, she could not afford to accept or hold at arm's length any of them.

* * *

"What, me and the _Commander_?" Oghren looked stunned. "_Sigrun_!"

"What? She's a human, ok, got it, but she's beautiful and all. You're telling me you never thought about it?"

"Well, yes, but…. No! Not with her, ok… I mean yeah, there's the human thing and all, but she's, uh, not the most even-tempered woman I've ever met. Downright dangerous when she's got a mad on. You never know which one you're gonna see these days: the super confident hero, or the introverted shy one. I mean, you've seen her - that woman'd bring an Ogre to its knees!" He shuffled uncomfortably. "She's also, you know… got a thing for tall and blond."

Sigrun nodded, "Yeah, I noticed. The king, then Anders, and what is UP with her and Zevran? I mean, he's always stroking her and massaging her and grabbing her ass but nothing's going on between them?"

Oghren coughed. "Well, Zevran… he pursued her pretty hard during the blight, you know... he, uh, stopped pursuing her when she started bedding the pike twirler. 'Cos the pike twirler, he wasn't likely to understand the difference between love and lust... and..."

Sigrun looked at Oghren sharply. "You know something."

"I know a _lot_ of things. Doesn't mean I gotta _share_ them." He took another hard belt from his flask.

"So…. what. Is it her height?"

"Huh?"

"You know, is that a turn off for you?"

"If you're gonna ask these kinda questions, I'm gonna have to get a whole lot more drunk." Oghren snorted.

"'Cause you know... it's not so much of a big deal lying down..."

Oghren shook his head. "Woman, I don't even wanna THINK about that."


	59. Proof

Solona was in the practice yard with the newly joined Mage Wardens. She and Anders had some of the more athletic types on one side of the yard, teaching them the rudiments of swordplay as part of their continuing studies of the Arcane Warriors. Her stereotypically bookish mages were across the yard with Zevran, throwing knives at the practice dummies.

There wasn't a one of them who had _not_ been told about how Solona had saved her own life with a dagger's throw. And there were more than a few who looked on her with awe after hearing from Zevran just who had been attacking her, and how they had died.

Nathaniel came striding out across the yard, his face as dark as Solona had ever seen it. She frowned at his approach, worried. He had never been a very demonstrative man, but since Elissa Cousland had begun to visit him (and he, her) with some regularity, she'd noticed an easing… a lightening of his mood. Today he was a barely restrained thundercloud.

"Commander!"

Solona spun, bringing Spellweaver around in an arc to block her trainee's sword. As she yanked her sword upward, forcing Denys's blade up and away, she swept a foot out, hooked her ankle, and spilled the mage to the ground.

"Good job," she said without irony. "I should never have taken my eyes off you." She raised her voice. "Play with Anders, kids – I'm taking a break."

"Thanks a lot… my bruises have bruises!" Anders snorted.

* * *

"Talk to me," Solona said, falling into step beside Nathaniel.

"There's been a murder," he said quietly. "Ser Tamra was killed on the road last night. And it wasn't robbery – she had a full purse and her amulet."

Solona stopped dead, and Nathaniel turned. Her face remained smooth and seemingly impassive, but her eyes… they were clouded with Maker knew what.

Solona headed back for the Keep, her pace swift and her eyes hooded. Nathaniel followed after.

"Solona…"

"Not now, Nathaniel."

"_Solona_…."

"I said _not now_." She had unbuckled her sword belt and grabbed her Grey Warden tabard, and was throwing it right over her armor, not bothering to get changed.

He sighed, and pulled on his tabard as well, settling his quiver over his shoulder. "We should pick up Anders and a fourth before we go."

She gave him a sour look. "Nathaniel, you're not…"

"Letting you run off half-cocked, no, I'm not." He slung his bow across his back. "Protecting you from running full-speed into a probable ambush, yes, guilty."

"Why in the Fade do you always have to make sense," she snapped.

"Dunno. Take it up with the idiot who made me second."

That provoked a snort and maybe the ghost of a smile.

"Solona," he said seriously.

She looked at him, and his eyes locked with hers. "This is not your fault."

"Isn't it?" Solona laughed humorlessly. "Ser Tamra sat in THAT chair there and told me I was in danger… and when I laughed it off, she insisted she would bring proof." She buckled her sword belt back over her tabard savagely. "I suppose she's given me proof enough now."

"What will you do?" he asked.

"Amaranthine. To talk to the captain of the guard. All that's known, I want to know _now_."

"And then?"

"And then whomever murdered that woman will find themselves strangling at the end of a rope," she snarled. "No one murders one of the people under my protection and gets away with it. Not my Wardens and - Maker knows I never wanted it - not my vassals."

* * *

The visit to Amaranthine had been fruitless. Solona's mood had gone from stormy to absolutely foul by the time she, Barkly, Nathaniel and Sigrun had headed back, and when she got there, there was an absolute mob in the courtyard.


	60. She's Not What We Expected

Solona had never seen Varel look so relieved to see her as when she walked through the courtyard up towards the Keep. The angry shouts had fallen to sullen mutters and as she passed through the crowd she heard quietly, "That's her! The Arlessa!" "It's the Warden!" "It's the Hero!"

She walked up two steps of the staircase… three. Turned. Checked to see that she could see to the back of the crowd, and they could see her, without her towering over them. Nathaniel took his place two steps down, and Anders, seeing what she meant, stood on her other side, so that they formed a triangle with Solona at the apex.

Sigrun and Oghren ghosted off behind the crowd, each to a side… just in case. Solona couldn't see Zevran, but she'd be willing to bet he was up on the battlements somewhere.

"Good people of Amaranthine," she said courteously, "to what do we owe the pleasure of this visit?" She hoped that being jovial would put them somewhat off balance.

There was a deal of embarrassed shuffling from the front of the crowd; then from the middle of the pack somewhere, someone shouted, "There's a shortage of food, Commander! Winter's coming on hard and we won't be able to feed our families!"

Solona looked to Varel, who nodded grimly. Even the troops she'd sent to help protect Edelbreck's lands couldn't make the farms produce more.

"I am aware," she said, "and have been working closely with Lord Edelbreck to make sure the crops our farmers are growing are let to mature properly and be defended from darkspawn raids. We will all need to be patient and ration our food, my good friends. The Blight has made the crops smaller this year… I have already opened the coffers of the Arling to purchase food from the Free Marches to supplement what we grow here…"

Mistress Woolsey looked as if she were going to swallow her tongue.

"…and I promise, between Keep and Chantry, we will ALL have sufficient food. I remind you this will not mean any of us will suffer from over-full bellies, but I promise NONE of us will starve."

"What about the repressive taxes you're planning to levy?!" another anonymous voice shrieked.

She looked to Varel, who whispered, "The Keep is expensive to run, Commander… we were thinking of a small tax increase…"

"What needs done?"

"We need to repair the roads, for one… some of them are in quite bad repair. We've stone in plentiful supply – it's manpower we need."

Solona looked out over the crowd. "We weren't thinking of repressive taxes, but – surely you've noted that the Pilgrim's Path and other arteries of our arling are in a bad state. Much of that money was to be spent on repairs – which will make it easier for all of you to travel and to sell your goods either in the city or on Denerim. However… most of that coin was to pay for laborers. If I could depend on each of you to send help – your sons, hirelings, even yourselves – for one day every two weeks to help repair the roads, we all would benefit, would we not?"

Nathaniel shot her a look. His father would have probably had them all cleared out by force by now – and the compromises she was suggesting would certainly cause problems for the Keep itself. Still….

"You're going to conscript our men and youngsters!" This actually came from a woman up front, perhaps emboldened by Solona's answers.

"My good woman," Solona said, stepping down from the steps to come close, "Might I know your name?"

"E-Elena," the woman stammered, clearly frightened.

Solona extended her hand, but did not attempt to take Elena's. "Elena. I will not lie: conscription does happen, but honestly, it happens rarely. And we are no longer in the midst of the Blight." She turned, saw one of her mage Wardens standing near the forge, and waved her over. "Warden Adanna, please… how did you and your six fellows come to be Wardens?"

Adanna stepped forward. "Commander, you visited Kinloch Hold to look for recruits. You asked for the First Enchanter's suggestions, then interviewed us and offered us the choice. You did warn us it was a dangerous career, and that should we accept your offer we would not be allowed to go back on it. You encouraged us to think it over very carefully. No pressure was put on us to accept, and you said there was no shame in declining. We _wanted_ to come."

Solona nodded. "Thank you, Warden Adanna." She looked back to Elena. "There would have to be some dire circumstances indeed for me to choose to conscript a Warden…. Literally, a matter of life and death." She prayed that Anders and Nathaniel would not react to the white lie inherent in her words as she'd conscripted BOTH of them. But the circumstances in both cases WERE extenuating….

"They say you have unnatural appetites," a young man near the side of the group said.

"Well, yes, I suppose not everyone would care for melted chocolate on grits, but there you have it."

Some of the people in the crowd actually laughed, and she could see their angry cohesion breaking into considering groups.

"Please," she said to them, "I want to know what troubles you – I am here to run the Wardens but also I owe you, my good citizens, safety and protection. I can't know what is wrong until I am told. You must all know this: you are welcome to bring your concerns to me or to Seneschal Varel at any time… but if you plan to come in such a large group next time, won't you let us know so we can prepare properly? I find these discussions always go down better with a bit of a snack and a mug of ale."

As the crowd began to move off, she whispered to Varel, "Make sure none of our soldiers get antsy … this crowd is still ready to brawl at the least provocation."

"Very good, Commander," he said, as she and the Wardens headed up into the Keep.


	61. Courtly Manners

Solona's teeth ground together so hard they hurt. Here she was holding court in Vigil's Keep as was her duty, and there was Ser Temmerly, so sure of himself… accused of Ser Tamra's murder and certain there was nothing anyone could do about it.

They didn't have enough evidence to hang him. And she knew for a certainty he'd done it.

"Well, we certainly can't execute a man without sufficient evidence," she'd said pleasantly enough.

Ser Temmerly smirked.

"And we also can't let our only suspect, no matter how circumstantial the evidence, simply walk away."

The Ox's face darkened with rage.

"Seneschal Varel," she said pleasantly, "have some men show Ser Ser Temmerly to a cell while we begin an EXHAUSTIVE investigation into the matter. I am sure he will want us to clear his name if at all possible."

"You can't DO this," he snarled, "I am a NOBLE!"

Solona blinked. "And….? Do the laws not apply to nobles as well?" She looked at Ser Temmerly with a slow smile that could be construed either as quite stupid or quietly enjoying this.

There was a low, approving rumble from the common folk also gathered in her court.

"Next case?" she asked sweetly.

"Alec, the sheepherder, stands charged with stealing grain from the crown," Varel said. "It's a pity – anyone else and he'd be flogged, but stealing from Ferelden itself, the punishment is hanging."

"Alec, step forward," Solona said.

The shepherd could barely look her in the eye. "I'm sorry my lady," he said with quiet resignation. "My sheep were killed by darkspawn and blight disease, and my family was starving. They'll die if I am hanged – though it's no more than I deserve."

Solona frowned. "I've been hungry too," she said, a statement that drew a snort from Oghren. "Stealing from the crown – you steal from all of Ferelden. But I cannot think that hanging you does anything to really repay the debt."

Alec steeled himself for the worst.

"You took from Ferelden's strength – therefore you will add to it. Varel, see this man is enlisted into the army immediately – his posting will be here, at the Keep." She looked at Alec, who looked stunned. "You'll be billeted here, and the salary you earn should be enough to keep your family fed." She looked at Varel again. "See to it that one of the cottages on the grounds is readied. I've no doubt that without him, they cannot make their farmhold a going concern, and some other family should move there."

"Thank you, milady," Alec choked, the gratitude shining in his eyes, "Thank you!"

"Don't thank me yet," she said, her eyes hardening. "Fighting bandits and darkspawn is no small job. And make no mistake, you'll be doing honest work for honest pay."

Again, there was murmuring among the court – but it seemed to be approval.

"This one is more difficult," Varel said softly, as if the other two had been easy! "Danella abandoned her post and was apprehended halfway to Highever."

The woman looked miserable. "Your pardon, my lady… but my mother sent word – there have been darkspawn attacks near their home, and many have gone missing – I asked permission repeatedly to go bring them here to the Keep, but was told I could not go – I was only going to go bring them back here, I swear!"

Solona's stomach twisted. Having never had a family, she could understand the woman's anguish… yet she could not let her desert. There would be more defections if there was even the hint of approval of abandoning her post.

"This cannot pass," Solona said quietly, and there was anxious murmuring from the crowd. Any number of the commoners would have done as Danellea had. SOLONA would have.

"Danella, I understand why you left but desertion is unconscionable. The usual consequence is…."

"Hanging, my lady," Danella said softly.

Solona looked ill. "Yes, well, let's dispense with that. You're trained – the crown has made some _investment_ of time and money in you that I'll not see thrown away. One year's imprisonment for your crime," she said.

There was some murmuring, and Danella looked ill too, but nodded. "Thank you, milady." She choked as she was led away.

"Varel…"

"Her family will be collected and brought here at once, " he murmured quietly."One last case, Commander - and this one's a difficult one. Ser Liza Packton claims that Arl Rendon Howe promised her the bridge and its tolls crosssing the Hafter River..."

"Which my grandfather built, and is on our lands," Ser Derren cut in angrily. "Howe gave it to her because I opposed Loghain..."

Solona's headache threatened to blow the top of her head right off. She looked to Varel.

"He had the right," Varel said, "and the paperwork is in order."

Solona shook her head. What to do?

"Ser Derren," she said quietly, "I find myself in a quandary, trying to be fair to you both." She walked over to him, and looked him in the eye. "I promise you, Ser... if you allow me to confirm Ser Packton's ownership of this land, you, Varel, and I will sit down and find some suitable means of compensating you for the loss."

Ser Derren looked at Solona for a long moment, then extended his hand, and Solona took it. "Very well, My Lady. When shall we three meet again?"

Solona looked to Varel. "Would dinner two days hence agreeable?" Varel nodded fractionally, and she turned to Ser Derren.

"That would be fine, My Lady. Until then." He actually smiled at her as he bowed slightly, then very gently turned her hand and kissed the back of it.

"I look forward to it, Ser Derren," Solona said, smiling in spite of herself.

She nodded to Varel, and he raised his voice."This court is now adjourned."

"Maker have mercy on us," Solona murmured, striding off the dais quickly.

"Maker have mercy on us _all_." Varel responded.

* * *

Solona went straight to her office, slinging off her Warden tabard and simply wearing her tunic and breeches, and poured herself a glass of brandy.

"If it's any consolation," she heard from the doorway, "I think you did well."

She turned, saw her second in command at the doorway. She picked up an empty snifter and the bottle of Antivan brandy and held them up, raising her eyebrow.

He walked in, and she poured, handing him the snifter.

"Maker's breath, I hate this," she said fervently, swirling the brandy in her own glass, sniffing it, then taking a sip. It burned pleasantly, warming her stomach.

"That probably makes you very good at it," he replied, sipping his own. He looked at the glass with approval. "This is a very nice brandy."

"Antivan, of course." She smiled. "There are at least a _few_ things I can do for my wardens." She savored the flavor of her next sip, then swallowed. "How are you, Nate?"

He gave her one of his rare half-smiles. She was used to his _smirks_, of course. "Well enough," he said.

"Not destroying relations with the Teyrn of Highever for us, are you?"

His face changed swiftly, like a sudden summer storm. "You're not seriously about to lecture me on my personal life?"

Solona shook her head. "Lecture, no. I've no leg to stand on in that respect. Gently tease a friend, perhaps…." She let that trail off, looking at his steel grey eyes questioningly.

He relaxed. "Since when did you begin to think we were friends?"

"Since you've been saving my ass, physically and politically, for some time now," she said. "And complimenting me on a job well done when I'm drinking to take the bad taste of it out of my mouth. I… haven't misstepped, have I?"

He shook his head, the barest of smiles returning to his face. "You haven't misstepped."

She smiled, leaning against her desk. "Nathaniel Howe, I'm glad I didn't have you hanged."

"Solona Amell – I'm glad too."


	62. Ring around the Wardens

Solona knelt at Nathaniel Howe's side, her fingers pressed hard around the arrow projecting from his kidney. There was so much blood, and she and he were trapped inside a bubble of pure force, with five hurlocks snarling around them in a circle.

"Don't leave me, Howe," she murmured, trying to get a handle on how badly he was hurt while maintaining the bubble that protected them. "You know I can't run the arling worth shit without you."

His chuckle turned into a pained cough. "Solona, I _can't_ leave you... force field, remember?"

She nodded, her lips compressed to a tight line. If help didn't arrive soon, the whole queston would be moot. She squeezed his hand tightly, and said, "I've got to get the arrow out."

"Will it hurt?" he asked with a faint smirk.

"Like a son of a bitch," she said softly.

He closed his eyes, releasing her hand, and took a deep breath.

Solona placed her left hand just above the wound, With her right, she grasped the arrow shaft firmly, and said softly, "I'm sorry, Nate."

"Do it," he hissed.

"On five," she agreed. "One….. two….."

She yanked the arrow out in one smooth pull, straight back the way it had gone in, the white-blue healing light pouring into his wound even as the blood poured out.

"You lying bitch," he gasped, "you said on _five_!"

"And you'd have tensed and made it worse," she gritted, concentrating first on healing the wound in his kidney. The flesh above could wait.

The Hurlocks started pounding on the bubble now. Solona was shaking with the effort to maintain it and heal at the same time.

"Nate."

He looked up at her. Saw the look in her eyes.

"Nate, if worst should come to worst... if that bubble falls before help gets here…"

"Solona…."

She pressed her silverite dagger into his hand.

"They'll get here." He managed to sit up now, with a groan.

"If they don't." She looked at him very seriously. "Promise me."

"They'll _get_ here."

"_Promise me_. "

He nodded reluctantly.

"Imagine that," she said, her voice soft and amused. "It wasn't so long ago you _wanted_ to kill me."

"Things change," he said quietly. "People change." He sat up, his hand probing at his wound before he grasped his bow.

She stood, back to back with him, Spellweaver in hand. "They do indeed." Who would have ever thought she'd have transformed from a shy, studious mage into a leader, a hero, a warrior-mage?

The field flickered slightly, and he glanced at her. Saw she was shaking. She was probably scouring her last reserves of mana now.

He heard a mabari barking nearby. Close enough?

Black blood sprayed over the bubble.

As it dropped, he saw Barkly… no, and Scout too! pull down and tear apart a Hurlock with vicious snarls. Arrows impaled another, taking it out of the fight, even as a fireball licked by.

It was a simple matter for Solona and he to take out the remaining Hurlocks.

Sides heaving with exhausted pants, Solona and Nathaniel's eyes found Elissa, Anders, the two mabari, and Zevran standing there across the clearing from them. Elissa sheathed her wicked daggers even as Nathaniel returned the silverite one to Solona.

Elissa crossed the distance between herself and Nathaniel in swift steps and threw her arms around him.

Solona took a step towards Anders and Zevran, and found herself wobbling drunkenly. Zevran caught her arm, steadied her.

"Time to go my dear grey warden," he purred. "We need to get you to bed."


	63. Rose to the Occasion

"I'm _fine_," Solona protested as Zevran tsked at her and pointed to her big leather chair. "_Maker's ass_, you and Anders act like I'm made of glass…."

"And you act like you're immortal. Which you are not, sad to say." Zevran was not taking no for an answer as he patted the chair. "Come. Sit, my deadly one."

Solona crossed her arms across her chest, frowning.

"Ah… how delightfully you present your bosom to me… I had thought you were _angered_, my friend. But the effect is spoiled by the crease in your brow and the petulant thrust to your lower lip…. It makes you look like a six year old who has lost her lollipop. I am attracted to many things, but children – no."

"Look," she said seriously, uncrossing her arms, "I'm the Commander of the Grey. I can't have you two fussing over me like broody hens every time I take a blow."

"And are we instead to let you continue to overextend yourself until you make a fatal misstep and leave us grieving in your wake?" Zevran was uncharacteristically serious. "You were exhausted when we got to you… I think you and Nathaniel were much closer to death than you'd like either him or the lovely Lady Cousland to know…."

"They were Hurlocks, not archdemons," she said, looking away.

"And _you_ were maintaining a force shield, and healing a very serious wound. Do not think that because I am not a mage, I can't see when you're pushing the raw edges of your ability…. That pale. clammy grey skin was a tip-off, even _before_ you nearly fell on your face, that you were at your limits. No?"

"Letting Howe die was not an option," she said softly.

Zevran sighed, and taking her hand, drew her over to the chair. This time she didn't resist – not really – and he was able to get her to sit in it. He perched on the arm, leaning his cheek against the top of her head, his arm around her in an easy embrace.

"_Cara mia_," he said quietly, "there will come a day when no matter what you wish, death WILL come – to me, to Anders, to Howe, to Oghren… arguably to our lovely Sigrun as well. You must accept that for all your magic and skill, you _are_ only human."

She reached up, stroked the side of his face. "If I had accepted _that_," she said ruefully, "there'd still be a civil war raging and an archdemon rampaging across Thedas."

"Please," he chuckled, "do not confuse the issue with FACTS."

As she laughed lightly – a sound he hadn't heard for many weeks – Barkly walked into the room and sneezed.

"And there is my cue," Zevran said, getting up and squeezing Solona's hand briefly.

"Where are you going?" Solona asked. It had been a while since Zevran had felt at ease enough with her to sit so casually, and she had missed it more than she would admit to him – for fear of driving him off.

"I have some rather horrific sex poetry rambling around in my brain – I wish to get it on paper – then burn it." With a grin, he disappeared into the shadows.

"_Hrrrmph_." Barkly took a step away, then turned to look at Solona attentively. When she didn't move, he yapped and repeated the move.

"Oh, all right…" she grumped, following him.

* * *

The hound had led her all through the keep, and she shook her head in disgust as she headed back to her rooms. What a waste of time… he normally wasn't so bone-headed, but….

The door to her sitting room was open a crack.

Solona opened it cautiously, to see that the fire had been coaxed into a merry blaze, and that there were myriad tiny candles all over the room, bathing it in a soft, warm, flickering light.

As she stepped in, the scent of roses met her nose, and she looked down. A thick ribbon of pink petals meandered through the room and into the bathing area, where the tub was filled with steaming water, also scented by the rose petals floating there.

And there was Anders, wearing a smile and a robe. "Ah, there you are, love."

She smiled, in spite of herself. "What is all this?"

He came to her then, gently brushing his fingers under her chin to encourage her to tip her head back to look him in the eyes. She did, and slid her arms around his neck as he leaned in to kiss her tenderly, then with more passion.

"_This_," he said softly, "is for _you_."

"All of it?" she asked with a mischievous glint in her eye as she very obviously looked him up and down.

He grinned audaciously. "Every spicy shimmy," he purred, taking her by the hand and drawing her back towards the tub.

* * *

The heat of the water and the silkiness of the rose petals scenting it were divine. Anders had sat in the tub first, and gotten her to sit in front of him and lean back against his chest while he held her close and nibbled kisses along her jawline.

"Where did you learn massage techniques like those?" she asked softly, smiling. "Has Zevran been telling all of his secrets?"

"Surely not _all_," Anders murmured, stroking her shoulder and letting the natural curve there lead his left hand to slide forward around the curve of her breast. "I've a few secrets of my own." As his thumb circled her nipple, he sent in rapid fire waves of alternating heat and cool, which made Solona moan and press herself back against him hard.

Solona gasped, and taking Anders' hand off her breast, kissed his knuckles… then replaced his hand on her bosom. "Carry on," she smirked.


	64. Throne for a Loop

Solona jerked awake as Barkly nosed her ear, hard, for the second time.

The mabari's ears were laid flat against his skull, and she could see that Pounce, too, was patting Anders' face, the cat's back arched. Their animal companions – pets were really too simple a term for what they were – were eerily silent.

"Lona?" Anders caressed her gently, easing out from under her and throwing on his robes.

"Right behind you. Something's wrong." She grabbed her staff and robes, then opened the door to her chambers cautiously. She peeked in the hall, then turned to Barkly. "Alert Scout, boy," She was fairly sure that Nate would find out fairly quickly that something was up.

Anders' eyes widened slightly when he saw that she was wearing robes rather than her armor – she rarely did so anymore except for social occasions, now that she was the Warden-Commander of the Grey. But if things were as dire as they appeared to feel, there wasn't time to spare. They both cast Rock Armor on themselves, and he nodded and followed when she said quietly, "Let's go."

Zevran was nowhere to be seen, but Solona spotted Oghren and Sigrun slipping into the Throne Room via the south entrance even as she and Anders came to the door in the northwest corner of the room. She could feel more than see that Nathaniel and the dogs had slipped in via the secret entrance behind the dais, and heard a hushed voice – a woman's voice – and realized that she recognized it immediately.

Bann Esmerelle. And crumpled at her feet, Varel.

Solona strode out into the middle of the room, taking in Esmerelle, Temerly, Guy, Timothy and Morag – all armed and armored – by surprise. "What is the meaning of this?" she demanded, and Anders, from his vantage just out of view from the doorway heard and saw them jerk with surprise – although not with guilt. "You come into the Vigil armed and attack my seneschal – why?"

"You are not fit to be the arlessa of Amaranthine," Esmerelle snarled.

"Because I am a mage," Solona asked sweetly, "or because I am not sleeping with you an giving you advantages over all of my other vassals?"

Esmerelle's face twisted with rage. "You bitch," she hissed.

"That's a laugh coming from a foresworn, honorless whore," Solona shot back. "Tell me – did you plan this before or after you swore fealty to me?"

Esmerelle sneered. "I swore fealty to Rendon Howe – the man you murdered, and will honor that oath by seeing you dead." She stepped forward, sword raised.

Solona whipped her staff out in front of her even as she cast stone fist at them – and an arrow embedded itself in the staff.

"How droll," Solona said, glancing at the arrow's fletching, "You've hired some Crows." Then she cast an arcane bolt up into the rafters, scattering the nobles as one of the chandeliers came crashing down.

The moment her first offensive spell was loosed, Anders plunged through the doorway, casting Blizzard. A Crow nearly immediately fell dead from the rafters, a familiar throwing dagger buried in her throat – the signature of one Zevran Arainai. Very quickly arrows started flying – from behind the dais and from the rafters, downward.

Within about fifteen minutes of furious fighting, bodies of assassins littered the throne room floor, as well as dead and dying nobles. Esmerelle lay gasping, an arrow through her side, as Solona advanced on her. Solona was aware of a presence just behind her and to her left, and Esmerelle's glare of pure hatred turned to look over the mage's shoulder.

"You," Esmerelle hissed, her eyes locked on Nathaniel's face, her mouth curling into an all-too-familiar sneer. "Siding with the whore who murdered your father and the bitch spawned by the Orlesian sympathizer, whose family lays rotting, utterly destroyed!"

"My father was a disgrace to his name and Ferelden," Nathaniel replied calmly, "a greedy, traitorous wretch whose plots and intrigue caused a civil war that nearly split the country, leaving it vulnerable to both Blight and the Orlesians waiting at the borders to 'help.'"

Esmerelle spat at him. It landed a few inches from his boot. "JUST like your mother." She was paling fast and slumped down on her elbow, trying to maintain eye contact with the Wardens as they stood over her, silent and inexorable as death.

"Do give Rendon my regards," Solona smiled nastily. And within one breath and the next, Esmerelle was gone.

Anders was already at Varel's side caring for the Seneschal when Garavel came racing in. "Nasty knock," Anders said tersely, "but he'll live, Commander. Let's get him to his room and let him recover there."

Solona surveyed the bodies, and listened to Garavel's stammered apologies. "Let's get this cleaned up," she said with a sigh, "and at our earliest convenience, please invite Ser Derren here. I believe that becoming Bann of Amaranthine should, in fact, be more than equal recompense for losing that toll bridge to Lady Packton."


	65. Words

Solona was surprised as she headed back towards her rooms and saw Elissa Cousland in her rogue gear standing just inside the doors to the throne room. She paled slightly, and said to their guest,  
"Lady Cousland…"

"Warden Commander," Elissa said quietly.

Solona gave her second, Nathaniel, a hard look, and said mildly, "Will you two accompany me to my office for a moment, please?"

The rest of the Wardens looked at each other, and decided that discretion was the better part of valor. That there was going to be Words seemed inevitable, and no one was eager to be present when Words were exchanged.

* * *

"Lady Cousland," Solona said carefully, "I am most happy to have you visit Vigil's Keep… I understand that you spent holidays here in your youth." She looked down and fiddled with some papers on her desk. "I also am most pleased to have sworn fealty to your brother, the Teyrn of Highever."

Nathaniel scowled.

"Yes?" Elissa prompted quietly.

"My lady, you place me in a difficult position," Solona said. "You are a guest in the Keep, and had you been injured or killed by those conspirators, I, ultimately, would have been held responsible." Her eyes hardened as she looked to her second. "And to be blunt – I cannot afford to gain your brother's enmity."

Elissa's grey eyes darkened. "Is this where you throw me out of the Keep?"

Solona looked shocked. "Maker, no! But you need to understand: we lead a short, brutish life in the Wardens. We fight things far worse than grasping nobles… and I would rather you were not exposed to such things." She noted Elissa's darkening face, and rounded on her second.

"Have you mentioned to her how easily Blight sickness spreads? That it's fatal – after a long and painful descent into its grip? Have you told her where Darkspawn come from?" Solona was shaking as she thought about how Zevran and Elissa had accompanied Anders on the rescue mission that had saved both Nathaniel and herself in the Deep Roads. "Do you want to risk her becoming a ghoul – like Adria?"

The question hit Nathaniel like a punch in the stomach, and he glared at her. "That was low, Solona… even for you."

Solona's eyes hardened. "You tell me about low once _you've_ had to slit three teenaged girls' throats because they were dying in agony from the taint. You tell me about how low it is when you tell me that you'd rather see them drag her off and make her a broodmother than have her safe back here at the Keep or at Highever with her brother." Solona rounded on Elissa once more. "You _can't_ accompany us on missions – or to effect rescues, either. Because if anything ever were to happen to you, I wouldn't be able to live with myself. And I don't want to think what your brother would do if he lost you, too. Do you understand? Do you _get_ it?"

Elissa stepped into Solona's personal space, the two women bristling at each other. "And how do _you_ intend to stop me?"

Solona glared at the more athletic and muscular woman. "_By physical force, if necessary._"

A snort of laughter came from the open door of the office, and Oghren stuck his head in. "Hey, is this where the mud-wrestling comes in? 'Cause I'd pay to see that."

Solona and Elissa reacted at the same time – the door slamming as both an arcane bolt and a dagger hit it, swinging it shut.

Elissa's stormy gray eyes met Solona's deep blue ones.

"I won't interfere in Warden business," she said grudgingly, "but if I happen to be somewhere and get caught up in a fight, I won't run."

Solona sighed. "I suppose I can live with that. But…" she looked across at Nathaniel. "Don't get him killed trying to protect you, please. I'm rather fond of the grumpy bastard."

Nathaniel rolled his eyes. "Is that all, Commander?"

"That's all."


	66. Debts

"Commander," Nathaniel Howe said, knocking on Solona's door, "I think you need to come to the Great Hall."

Solona got up from her desk, thankful of an excuse to get away from the paperwork for a while. She followed her Warden-Lieutenant, wondering why he was so quiet.

"Still annoyed with me over Elissa?" she asked.

"What? No." He shot her a look. "It's just… well, you'll see."

* * *

When Solona walked into the Great Hall, she saw standing there before Varel and Oghren a slight young man. He looked vaguely familiar, but rather pale and shaky.

"Ah, Commander,"Varel said, clearly relieved to see her. "We appear to have a bit of a… situation here."

Solona looked at the young man, wondering where she'd seen him before. He was looking at her with wide, feverish eyes. They were chocolate brown, she noticed, as was the hair plastered by sweat to his forehead.

And then it clicked. "Ser Anton?"

He shook his head rapidly. "Just Anton now," he said shakily. "I… I'm not a t-templar any more."

Solona was pretty sure she knew what ailed the young man, but she still laid the back of her hand to his forehead. He was sweating profusely, and shaking. He looked as if he might cry, were she not careful.

She sighed. "Anton… what happened?"

"They… did things to me," he stammered. "Because I told. Told what Betron did."

"The Chantry?" Solona asked, horrified.

He shook his head too quickly – like a child. "Other templars," he said. "Terrible." He wiped his eyes, trying to keep his eyes fixed on hers. "They… hurt me. 'n then they planted…. Planted evidence. Wasn't true. Wasn't true. Lucky." He giggled a little. "Lucky. They drummed me out of the order. Sent me away!"

"Andraste's mercy," Solona muttered.

"No mercy. No mercy," he said, and began to weep.

Solona reached into the sleeve of her robe, and pulled out a small blue vial. Anton's eyes snapped to it, and the shaking grew more pronounced., although he made no move toward her.

"Take it," she said softly, and Anton grabbed the bottle, breaking the wax seal with his thumbnail and downing it in one gulp. He closed his eyes, and shuddered violently.

Nathaniel looked at her questioningly.

"Lyrium withdrawal," she said quietly. "Go with him, take him to Anders. Have him… examine him."

"Anders?" Nathaniel asked.

"He's our healer, isn't he? But go with them… make sure to protect them both."

* * *

Anders shook his head. "Well, I can't say I like having a templar under our roof," he began.

"Ex-templar."

He shrugged. "Whatever. But he IS suffering from acute lyrium withdrawal. And he has been… abused."

Solona closed her eyes. Why should she be surprised? Templars 'abused' mages all the time. She rubbed the bridge of her nose. Why were things never simple?

"Maker's balls," she swore fervently. "Maker's hairy BALLS."

"Solona…."

"They did this to him," she said bitterly, "because of me."

"No." He took her face in his hands, looked into her eyes, then kissed her lips gently. "They did this to him, full stop." He kissed her again, then stroked her cheek. "He'd have spoken up for some mage or other, and this _still_ would have happened to him."

"But not on MY watch," she said quietly. She put her head onto his chest, and Anders enfolded her in a tight hug.

"You can't save the world, love."

She picked up her head and gave him a disbelieving look.

He chuckled humorlessly. "Poor choice of words."

"What do we _do_, Anders?" she murmured, looking up at him.

He sighed. "What we both know you must. He won't survive out there on his own, withdrawing from lyrium. He'd be easy prey for whomever came along,"

Solona nodded. "We'll put him into one of the rooms nearer Nate and Sigrun. He'll need to be watched… for his sake and ours."

Anders kissed her again, softly, then bent swiftly and scooped her into his arms. "Come to bed, 'Lona. Everything will look better in the morning."


	67. What Dreams May Come

Solona watched Alaina and Micah helping Anton as he chopped wood for the brazier in the Great Hall. The two pages kept bringing him wood to split, and then stacked the wood against the wall near the forge.

The young man was stripped to the waist as he worked. Solona winced to see the lash marks across his back – no doubt one of his souvenirs of his discharge from the templar order. She wondered if she shouldn't be assigning him something else, something less… strenuous, but the young man swore that the mindlessness and repetition of the job gave him peace. Made him feel useful, for something.

She had to admit the ex-templar was drawing some attention from the female guards. The play of muscles under a thin sheen of sweat _was_ pretty compelling. Whether he could or would return their attention was up for debate. After his mistreatment, it seemed that he could barely tolerate others' presence – other than the pages Alaina and Micah, whom he seemed to regard as younger brother and sister.

Were it not for the fact that she owed the young man her life, she really couldn't see having an ex-templar under the same roof as Anders and herself. The truth was she'd nearly killed him herself when she'd regained consciousness after her disastrous duel with Betron – _templar in range!_ – but found out he'd gone to bring back help. Once he discovered she wasn't just some apostate, was the Warden-Commander of Ferelden, and that Betron had a personal grudge he was seeking to satisfy – he'd fled back toward Amaranthine to bring back aid. He'd run into her Wardens before he could get to the Chantry. Her distrust of templars aside, she had to admire him for that. He'd done the right thing in the face of the abuses he saw – and had fallen prey to those very same abuses. The Order didn't police their own very well – there seemed many who were frankly depraved. If any of THOSE sort ever fell under her jurisdiction, Solona would have them jailed for a VERY long time.

And wasn't that a sad state of affairs – that even after she'd saved the world, mages were still abused openly. That would need to end. Sounded like it was time for another recruitment drive. Recruitment, not conscription – she wouldn't force Mages from one prison to another.

"Poor sod."

Oghren had come up to the battlements, and stood beside her, watching the ex-templar work.

"Don't tell me it's not my fault," she said quietly.

"Don't take responsibility for things that ain't your fault and we won't _have_ to," he snorted.

She looked at the dwarf. "Alistair taught you to use templar abilities, didn't he?"

Oghren's eyes narrowed. "Why? Thinkin' of trying to get _me_ to drink the blue shit?"

"Quite the opposite." She nodded toward the ex-templar as he stopped and accepted a dipper of water from Alaina. "I want to wean him off it, and I want you to work with him keeping up his abilities."

Oghren looked at Solona searchingly. "And I'd be the perfect one for this because…."

"Because you already know how to cleanse and how to Smite," she said, "and you can teach him to fight too."

Oghren crossed his arms suspiciously. "No other reason?"

Solona looked back. "What other reason do you think?"

Oghren glared. "We both know I'm a drunk."

Solona cocked her head. "And we both know you're working on it."

Oghren startled.

"You don't think I noticed that you've cut way back?" she asked, smiling at him warmly. "That you're sober more often than not, these days? That you and Sigrun talk when you're having a hard day?" She bent over and kissed his forehead. "You think I didn't notice that a lot of the toxins from your body have _just so happened_ to have been neutralized?"

Oghren blushed. "Did Anders…."

She shook her head. "He's your healer. That's private. But I can _feel_ the difference – I'm not a great healer, but good enough. And anyone can _see_ you've been steadier."

Oghren looked away, embarrassed. "I didn't realize you were keeping track."

Solona squeezed his shoulder. "_Of course_ I do," she said softly. "You're one of my dearest friends. You and Zev are the only two of my companions who stayed with me and came to Vigil's Keep. _Of course_ I keep track of how you're doing." She sighed. "I guess that you didn't know I cared tells me I haven't been the best friend out there."

He blushed. "Now you're going to make me embarrassed," he said.

She nodded down to Anton. "Will you do it? Will you work with him?"

He looked up at her. "For _you_, Legs? Anything."

* * *

Solona was startled from her sleep by five sharp raps on the door. Anders groaned and instinctually pulled her closer, muzzily.

"Solona." That was Nathaniel's voice outside. "Solona, it's Anton."

"Coming," she called, pulling away from Anders, getting out of bed and tossing on her robes.

A pause. Then very carefully, "You might want to send a page for Anders, as well."

The blond mage rubbed his eyes, very much like a little boy, and began to dress wordlessly.

"I'll send Barkley. We'll be there momentarily."

* * *

When Solona and Anders arrived, Nathaniel was standing just outside the door and she could hear Sigrun's voice inside.

Nathaniel shook his head at Solona's questioning look. "It's the withdrawal, we think… he woke screaming about "them" being all around him. He's pale and sweaty and shaking like a leaf."

Anders looked grim. "Very likely."

Inside, Anton was curled up in the damp and tangled sheets, shaking, his eyes wide. Sigrun was kneeling next to the bed – not touching, but speaking quietly, soothingly. "It's ok, big guy…. Nobody's gonna hurt you. They'd hafta get past my axe to get to you!"

"Get them off me! Get them off!" The look on his face made Solona's heart skip a beat. Whatever nightmare he was having, he was having it now with his eyes wide open in the real world.

Ander nodded grimly. "He'll need a sip of lyrium before we can do anything – in this state, he'd likely react badly to magic."

Solona watched as the tiniest of vials was opened and poured between the young man's lips. Within about fifteen minutes, he had calmed enough to understand what was happening around him. He looked profoundly tired and mumbled an apology.

"Anton," Anders said quietly, "I'm going to send you into a deep sleep." At the look of panic in the man's eyes, Anders said soothingly, "No one will hurt you, that I promise."

"I'll sit up with him," Sigrun said, and Solona noticed a very relieved look on Anton's face. "I don't mind. Gives me time to read – maybe I'll read to you, salroka, so you know I'm near and so's my axe."

Anton nodded wearily. "Thank you… I'd… like that."

Solona nodded to Anders, who almost-but-didn't-quite touch the young man. The ex-templar's face sagged into peaceful sleep, and soon after that, everyone headed back to bed.

* * *

"The Chantry," Solona growled, "must be made to pay for using lyrium to control their templars…. And if any of his tormentors found themselves under MY battlements…"

Anders frowned thoughtfully. "You know…. If I could keep him asleep for long enough, it might ease his withdrawal."

Solona nodded. "We'll discuss it with him in the morning."


	68. Of Afterglows and Templars

"Are you… sure we should do this?" Anders asked, frowning. "He is a templar, you know… what if he's here to spy on all us Warden mages?"

They were in the office sitting-room portion of their personal quarters, eating breakfast. The office door was shut – it was much too early to consider any warden business.

Solona rubbed the bridge of her nose. "I know. I worry about it too. But… you examined him. His injuries were not feigned?"

Anders scowled. "No, definitely not. But that's not to say he couldn't still be a plant."

Solona sighed, getting up to stand before the fireplace, watching the flames dance. "Is it bad that I want to believe him?"

"No. But you do have to be aware that he could be a danger to us – to all of us."

Solona nodded. "I am. I just… wish it could be simpler."

Anders came up behind her and enfolded her in his arms, nuzzling the side of her neck. "You tend to see the best in people." He nibbled her earlobe, and Solona moaned softly, leaning back against him. "It's very endearing… if a little crazy."

She turned in his arms, putting hers tightly around his waist. "I went up against an Archdemon with a sword. _A little crazy_ doesn't begin to cover it."

Anders slanted his lips across hers and kissed her thoroughly. "Fortunately for you… I can do crazy."

Solona kissed him back, her right hand sliding up his neck… her left down to his immensely grabbable buttocks and gave him a bit of as squeeze. He growled, grabbing her own derrière through her robes and, pulling her against him, lifted her off her feet and walked them both back to the bed. He lowered her gently to the mattress, and Solona smiled, putting her hand to his quivering abdominal muscles.

"So strong," she murmured quietly. "Perhaps we can put those delicious muscles… as well as a few others – to some better use?"

He grinned, beginning to unfasten the top of her robes. "I'll show you 'better use,' woman."

* * *

Solona smiled up at Anders and kissed his nose, and he carefully rolled off her and to his back, his breath rapid and ragged. "Do you think anyone would notice if we just stayed here all day?" he said breathlessly, throwing an arm across her and snuggling close beside her.

"I'm fairly sure they would." Solona couldn't stop smiling. "I'm not sure I _care_ at the moment."

There was a tentative rap at the outer office door. "Commander?"

Solona sighed, and pouted into the side of Anders' neck. "And then, reality intruded, calling the feisty commander and her sexy and sweet lover out of the afterglow."

* * *

"So there you have it. We think that we can get you past the worst of the withdrawal if we keep you under." Solona looked searchingly into Anton's eyes, and watched as he considered it, panicked.

"Trapping me in the Fade…" he whispered. "For how long?"

Solona was honest. "I'm not sure. We're going to have to monitor you closely."

Anton was chewing on his thumbnail. "Monitor closely? Who would monitor me?"

Solona handed him a glass of water. "I would, in part. Anders. We've seven other mages too. Everyone we have who can enter the Fade at will. We'll rotate and make sure that you're never unprotected."

Anton nodded, sweating.

"I know it's a lot – asking you to trust mages. But it's the only way I can think of that we can get your through it without the physical discomfort."

Anton closed his eyes. "Yes," he said, nodding quickly. "Yes. Let's do it."


End file.
